Wishing For You On a Shooting Star
by dreamfandomist
Summary: MODERN AU. Events Planner, Elsie Hughes, meets Charles Carson, Manager of Downton Abbey, at a charity event. Could accidental happenings change the courses of two lives?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters and I certainly do not obtain any economic benefit out of them. **

* * *

Chapter 1

"Hello? Beryl?" Elsie called out through the door that was ajar, peering into the shadowed hallway when there were no replies to the doorbell which she had already tried several times over.

"Coming right through!" Beryl's voice sounded from somewhere close to the kitchen and hurried footsteps approached the door. "Good morning sweetheart," Beryl smiled opening door for Elsie, almost breathless from having to hurry.

"Good morning!" Elsie greeted entering and paused to look around the house while Beryl closed the door behind her. "Bloody hell, this is a mess!" Elsie exclaimed eyeing the large packages piled on the coffee table, on chairs and even on the floor of the living room.

"It jolly well is," Beryl muttered stepping to Elsie's side. "I've been up almost all night getting it all together."

"It's a big job? This one?" Elsie asked turning towards Beryl.

"Oh yes! Very big! And if I can pull this off successfully I'll be absolutely famous!" Beryl chuckled making her way through the hall to the kitchen. "Careful lass. You are treading through my reputation!" she laughed glancing back at Elsie who was following her, making her way carefully through the large packages and boxes.

Elsie rolled her eyes and muttered, "As if!"

Beryl put the kettle on and Elsie took a seat at the kitchen table and eyed the mass of covered trays upon it.

"Where's Daisy?" Elsie asked, fiddling with a ball point pen that was lying on the table while watching Beryl make the tea.

"Sent her to bed a couple of hours ago," Beryl replied adding tea leaves to the pot. "Sugar?" she asked, turning her head towards Elsie.

"No thanks. Poor girl must be exhausted," Elsie commented accepting an empty tea cup and saucer from Beryl and held them in her hands till Beryl cleared a place on the table for her to set it down on.

"_I'm exhausted!_ Daisy does some of the work but I'm the one who has to do most of the work and help up with the messes she makes as well and on top of all that Ivy is ill, so my 'sort-of-helper' is gone too!" Beryl retorted pouring the tea into Elsie's cup from the tea pot.

"Daisy's much better at it now, I think. From what I've seen. She'll make you proud of her one day, I know it."

"She's good, I'll not deny that but that girl has her head too far among the clouds and far too clumsy for me to believe that she's actually my daughter sometimes!" Beryl said clearing a place for herself on the table and pouring the tea.

Elsie laughed at that and took a sip of tea. She sighed deeply as the warm, soothing liquid hit her throat.

"You're just saying that to appear unsentimental. So what's this event by the way?" Elsie asked as she placed her cup on the saucer.

"A charity dinner. A fancy one at that too. Not exactly a conventional but fancy nonetheless. Ever heard of Isobel Crawley?"

"No. Doesn't ring a bell. You know I'm not familiar with the county celebrities as much as you are."

"She owns a private hospital, used to be her late husband's. The big one on the main street."

"Oh that one!" Elsie exclaimed, realisation dawning upon her. "Never knew who owned that really."

"Surely you must be familiar with those people given your line of work."

"Never came across this one."

"You must know the Crawley family," Beryl added taking a sip. "I need a biscuit. You want one?" Beryl got up from her seat.

"Yes, thank you," Elsie nodded. "Yeah heard of them. You mean Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham's family right?"

"Yep. Ever met them?" Beryl asked returning with a jar of biscuits. Holding the jar out to Elsie she asked, "You know, ever organised an event for them? Or met them at something you've organised."

"I've heard of them. Seen him with his wife at something or the other a couple of times. But I don't actually know them," Elsie replied taking a biscuit out of the jar.

"Well, this Mrs Isobel Crawley's son is to marry his eldest daughter," Beryl said munching her biscuit.

"My, my," Elsie raised her eyebrows. "So she's one of those toffee nosed, high and mighty types?"

"Fun fact, not at all. She's very down to earth. I heard they are related in some long drawn distant way."

"That's a surprise!" Elsie laughed finishing her biscuit and taking a sip of her tea.

"So this Mrs Crawley does a lot of charity work and I'm catering for one of her dinners this time. It's a big job Elsie. If I can pull this off, I might be able to get a lot of high end contacts," Beryl finished her cup of tea and leaned back in her chair.

"You will dear. You are the most brilliant cook I've ever met, even if not the one with the best temper or the best sense of humour," Elsie giggled and bit her bottom lip as Beryl scowled.

"My sense of humour is in excellent shape I can assure you. And as for my temper, there's the pot calling the kettle black. Your temper is worse than mine, Mary bloody Queen of Scots!" Beryl folded her arms in front of her and scowled again.

"That's probably right," Elsie chuckled. "But you have to become a tyrant if you want to be an events planner."

"Well, I bet you didn't become a tyrant. You were probably born one!"

"That my dear is you. So what kind of charity event is this?" Elsie finished her tea and asked.

"A dinner as I said, but it sounds fun. They haven't got real waiters. It's just people from their circle who have volunteered. Stuff that you read about in posh magazines," Beryl said, reaching for the tea pot. "Another?"

"Sure, thanks. Nothing like getting drunk on tea," Elsie remarked and they both laughed together. When the laughter subsided Elsie added, "I've organised a few like that myself. They usually don't go smoothly because the waiters-for-the-day sometimes mess things up."

"How so?" Beryl poured another cup of tea.

"In all the million ways it could go wrong!"

"You mean like spilling ice cold water onto laps?" Beryl giggled.

"That is a minor example," Elsie quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm sure Mrs Crawley would have given them the prep talk a hundred times over. She's that enthusiastic I can tell you. Reminds me of someone I know," Beryl hid her giggles by bringing the tea cup to her lips.

"Don't you start!" Elsie rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Good morning," a sleepy voice called out from the kitchen doorway.

"Good morning love! Breakfast?" Beryl tilted her head to look at Daisy who stood by the door in her pyjamas, rubbing her left eye with the back of her hand. Her hair tied on top of her head, messy from her sleep.

"Yeah. Some toast would be nice," Daisy replied stepping towards the kitchen table.

"Hi Aunty Elsie," Daisy greeted, pulling out a chair from the table to sit down. "I'm sorry I just got up. Looks a right mess now."

"That's alright my dear. Beryl said you did a good job," Elsie smiled and patted Daisy's hand that lay on the edge of the table.

Daisy smiled shyly at Elsie, "She's being polite because you're here. Or else she'd be biting my head off for coming downstairs without getting properly dressed."

"I would, even now. I'm just holding back because you're tired. Elsie knows my colourful language, don't you worry miss. And I'd be dragging you up by the ear if you don't get ready by the time we have to leave!" Beryl said while cutting the bread for the toast.

"It's better now. Mom's incorrigible when she's busy," Daisy leant towards Elsie and whispered.

"Don't we all know it," Elsie whispered back, with a smirk.

"I may have got the cataract operation done, but my ears work still fine!" Beryl warned turning around and pointing the bread knife at both of them causing both Elsie and Daisy to erupt into giggles.

"You're sure you have to come Daisy? You look as if you could do with a few more hours of sleep," Elsie said, eyeing the dark circles around Daisy's eyes.

"Yeah I certainly could do with a couple more hours. On top of everything Ivy got ill," Daisy said stifling a yawn.

"Beryl mentioned it. It must have been hard to get it done between the two of you."

"Bloody nightmare it was!" Beryl chimed in.

"I don't think she's really ill. She's just taking the day off probably to go on a date. Otherwise why is both Alfred and Jimmy not here too? Probably fooling around with one of them," Daisy frowned and crossed her hands in front of her.

"Jimmy?" Elsie questioned, not very familiar with who was being referred to.

"My new delivery guy. Got him to help out Alfred. But looks like he's helping out Ivy more," Beryl turned back to the table with a plate of toast.

"She's fooling around with Jimmy and what's more she's stringing on Alfred as well!" Daisy reached for the toast, a scowl upon her face.

"So you are getting jealous young lady?" Beryl grunted with a lop-sided smile on her face. She offered the plate to Elsie, "Elsie? Want some toast?"

"No thank you Beryl. I had breakfast before I came," Elsie shook her head and declined with a polite smile.

"I'm not jealous. Just… it doesn't seem fair on Alfred. She doesn't love him you know. Just pretends to do so," Daisy said nibbling on the end of her piece of toast. She leaned back on her chair and frowned at Beryl, muttering under her breath, "Jealous? Really?"

"And besides Alfred took the day off weeks early 'cause he's got a cookery exam. I don't know what the hell has happened to Jimmy. He's not answering his bloody phone and he'll have another thing coming the very next day he steps foot on my doorstep," Beryl burst out.

"A cookery exam?" Elsie asked, quite amused.

"Yeah. He's trying to become a Chef. It's at the Ritz too, fancy that?" Beryl's eyes glistened with traces of what Elsie saw to be pride.

"He'll get through. If you're the one to train him," Elsie smiled and patted her hand.

But Daisy couldn't help herself, the green eyed monster creeping back into her veins. "He's heart-broken you know," she said popping the last bit of her piece of toast and reaching for the serviette on Beryl's hand to wipe some of the crumbs off her hand. "He's heart-broken because of her. He almost gave everything up because of that slut."

"Daisy!" Beryl raised her eyebrows in horror and glared at her daughter.

"What? That's what she is. Shagging every good looking guy she can lay her eyes on and stringing the rest of them behind her just for the fun of it," Daisy shrugged.

"Now listen here…" Beryl began, quite mortified by Daisy's behaviour in front of Elsie.

Sensing the tense situation that was multiplying in leaps and bounds, Elsie interfered, "Beryl... uh… should we take the utensils, the dishes and sorts to Mrs Crawley's first or is it the food?"

Beryl thought for a second, her mind completely returning from the argument that was simmering between mother and daughter back to the catering. "Uh… the desert and some of pre-prepared starters first. I'd like to send in them earlier, it's safe that way. Then we can slowly move the rest of it. Alfred said he's coming back anyway after his exam so he can help out when it comes for food later on in the evening."

"Right. Uh… at what time should we get a move on?" Elsie checked her watch and looked up at her friend, her bottom lip involuntarily coming between her teeth.

"It's around nine now is it?" Beryl squinted and leant a bit forward to peep at her friend's watch. But turned back at the clock in the kitchen unable to read the time form the tiny dial of Elsie's watch.

"8.40 am," Elsie replied.

"Yeah okay. So 9.30?"

"Alright," Elsie smiled.

"Thank you so much for this Elsie. This is such a great help for me," Beryl smiled, reached out and squeezed Elsie's hand.

"No problem dear. That's what friends are for," Elsie smiled back. "Now what about you have a nice shower and get dressed?"

"Yeah I probably should. Don't want to get late," Beryl stood up from her chair and asked her daughter. "You could make yourself some eggs, could you Daisy?"

"Yep," Daisy nodded. "I don't have to come, do I?" she asked looking at Beryl and then at Elsie with wide yet tired eyes.

"No dear, we can manage. You have a nice, long rest," Elsie smiled and the young girl and playfully patted her cheek causing Daisy to giggle.

"You're spoiling her," Beryl mock glared at Elsie, a rather mischievous tone in her voice and Elsie rolled her eyes, while Daisy stuck her tongue out at Beryl, which the latter did not notice.

**To be continued…**

* * *

**This is my first time writing a modern day AU and I'm rather nervous about it. **** Hope you liked it! I'd be very grateful if you could let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the reviews. See you soon with a new chapter! Thanks again! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Beryl climbed the stairs that led to the large wooden door followed by Elsie. She took a step forward and rang the bell.

"Lovely looking place, isn't it?" Beryl whispered to Elsie, looking back over her shoulder.

"It is," Elsie nodded and looked up to get a view of the large house. It was an old house. Which era, it was hard to say, perhaps Edwardian or late Victorian, Elsie guessed. But by the look of it, the gloomy aura that hung about in houses from the early years of the last century was absent in it. The crisp, new paint and well renovated look made it seem dignified and perhaps even a bit modern for the distinctly old fashioned house.

The door opened and a cheerful, older woman stepped out. She smiled widely at Elsie and Beryl and greeted them, "Hello! Good morning!"

"Good morning Mrs Crawley," Beryl greeted in return and Elsie smiled at Mrs Crawley.

"Oh please come in," Mrs Crawley stepped back and opened the door wide for them. Beryl entered carrying two paper carrier bags and Elsie followed clutching the somewhat large cardboard box tightly to her chest.

Mrs Crawley closed the door behind them and took the lead, "This way ladies," she held her hand and gestured in front of her. Beryl and Elsie followed her through the house to the large and spacious kitchen.

Elsie followed the other two while observing the interior of the house as it passed. The interior was quite unlike the somewhat old fashioned exterior of the house. It did retain the architecture from the era it was built in. Large windows and mouldings with foliage sculptures. But the decoration of the house was done in a rather modern way. The furniture and even the electric fittings were neat and looked practical in contrast to the furniture that was usually present in houses this old. There were of course beautiful paintings in gilded frames and a few sculptures here and there. A large Victorian era book case was present in the far end of the living room and another antique cabinet in the wide hall way that led to the kitchen.

The kitchen was much, much more modern and contemporary compared to the rest of the house. White and grey seemed to be the theme for the kitchen. Wide, spacious counter tops with electrical appliances. A wooden table built in a modern design stood at the centre of it. Beryl placed the carrier bags on the table and Elsie rested the box on the nearest kitchen counter, leaning forward a bit and gently letting it slip out of her hands in order to place it as carefully as she could. Mrs Crawley who was standing close to the fridge rushed to her side.

"I can manage," Elsie smiled and let out a soft, inaudible sigh after the box was safely on the kitchen counter.

"Would you like cup of something?" Mrs Crawley asked, reaching for the kettle.

"If it isn't any trouble…" Beryl faltered, knowing it was impolite to refuse but not wanting to impose on Mrs Crawley neither.

"Not at all. Please take a seat," Mrs Crawley gestured towards the table and Beryl and Elsie sat down.

Filling the electric kettle with water, Mrs Crawley turned it on and faced Beryl and Elsie. "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea please," Beryl replied looking at Elsie, who nodded in agreement.

"Tea it is then," Mrs Crawley smiled to herself and fetched the tea leaves from a shelf directly in line with her forehead. She fetched a tray from the other end of the counter along with a tea pot, fetched the milk and arranged the tea ware. When the water boiled she quickly prepared the tea. Taking the tray in her hands she turned around to face them, "Shall we have it here or… perhaps take it into the living room?"

"We wouldn't mind it here. It's rather cosy to be honest. I'm not one very good at handling large, fancy rooms," Beryl admitted with a soft laugh and Elsie's lips tugged at the corners of her mouth to form a smile.

"You do have a point Mrs Mason," Mrs Crawley smiled back and placed the tea tray on the table where Elsie and Beryl sat facing each other. And she joined them at the head of the table.

"Oh please call me Beryl."

"Sure, if you don't mind."

"Everyone calls me Beryl," Beryl said and proceeded to introduce Elsie. "Oh I almost forgot, this my friend probably my best friend…,"She posed for a second contemplating whether she should make it formal or go with more relaxed and settled for the former option, "Miss Hughes." Beryl smiled and indicated Elsie with her hand.

Elsie turned in her seat slightly and stretched out her hand to Mrs Crawley, and introduced herself, "Elsie Hughes."

"Nice to meet you Ms Hughes. Isobel Crawley," Mrs Crawley took Elsie's hand and shook it.

A firm, confident handshake, Elsie observed. "Please call me Elsie."

"And me Isobel," Mrs Crawley said starting to pour the tea for Beryl and Elsie.

"Beryl tells me you own the Downton Hospital and Health Clinic," Elsie commented.

"Well it's like a partnership. I'm one of the owners. I'm also Chairman, took over from my late husband," Isobel replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "In fact I trained as a nurse as well. I still help out at the hospital."

"Oh that is wonderful," Elsie replied very impressed by Isobel Crawley. Being trained as a nurse let alone working as one was something she least expected from someone living in a house this fine. Especially given her position as a partner and Chairman.

"Thank you. And what do you do Elsie?"

"Oh she's an events planner," Beryl chimed in rather excitedly, "One of the best at that too. Got quite a name within and even outside the county."

Elsie's lips turned into a slight smile as she looked at Beryl but her eyes stated otherwise about her opinion on Beryl's untimely intrusion. Elsie knew she was very good at her job, but she wasn't one who was very comfortable with declaring it aloud.

"What?" Beryl shrugged. "You'd never have told how good you are at it."

"You _are _incorrigible Beryl!" Elsie hissed at Beryl, now with a sparkle of mischief dancing in her deep blue eyes.

Isobel laughed at that, "That's fantastic Elsie. And I must say to become good at that one must have a superb talent. I do my fair share of organising for charity and it wears me out."

Elsie beamed at the compliment, "It can get rather stressful, yes."

"Have you worked for the Crawley's? Lord and Lady Grantham?" Isobel inquired.

"No I haven't, I'm afraid. I've seen them at a couple of events but I haven't worked for them. But I've worked for Lady Shackleton, that is both the Dowager Lady Shackleton and Lady Shackleton. Also Lord Merton. And Sir Anthony Strallan as well a couple of times," Elsie replied, quite proud of her accomplishments.

"I'm not very familiar with the Anthony. I've met him at the odd party or another. I know the Dowager Lady Shackleton quite well too, through Lady Grantham. And you mentioned Lord Merton?" Isobel asked.

"Yes. I've organised events for Lord Merton and his sons as well. Particularly Mr and Mrs Larry Grey, only one or two for Lord Merton. If I'm honest with you they those two are not the easiest to work with. Lord Merton seems very nice though."

"I agree wholeheartedly with you. Larry Grey and Amelia Grey are probably the people I least like. I can even go to the level of downright hate," Isobel laughed and Elsie joined in.

Elsie felt that when Beryl first mentioned Isobel Crawley, her own thoughts were misjudgements for she now realised that Isobel Crawley seemed to be a very nice person, very far from the person she had imagined Isobel Crawley to be. "You'll hear no argument from me," Elsie agreed.

"But I know Lord Merton very well. Dickie's actually a partner of the hospital," Isobel said after the laughter had died down.

"There's like three partners?" Beryl asked.

"Five actually. Dickie Merton, Violet Crawley that is the Dowager Lady Grantham, Robert Crawley that is Lord Grantham, Doctor Richard Clarkson and after Reggie passed away, me. We're considering going in to be a public limited company these days. Release shares. That way we can get more investments and we'll be able to provide patients with the latest medical treatments at a much lower price than other hospitals and save people the some of the time they waste at state hospitals as well. It'll all be more accessible to most people if we go on with the new plan. I'm finding allies for it these days."

"Oh? Why?" Beryl questioned, rather confused.

"Because we're quite divided about it. Dickie and I on one side for going PLC. Violet and Richard on one side against it, him on that side more because he's afraid of Violet. Robert is quite lost. He can't agree with us because he doesn't want to go against his mother. He can't agree with his mother because he understands that she is wrong," Isobel shrugged. "And the Dowager can be very hard to persuade I can tell you. She isn't willing to let go of her partnership to her daughter-in-law neither. I'm trying so hard to get Cora involved. She understands the value of my plan."

"Today's event has something got to do with it?" Elsie raised an eyebrow.

"No, no," Isobel shook her head. "It's to raise funds for the children's ward. So that we can provide some minor treatments at a lower cost and eventually at no costs for those who can't afford treatments. There's a series of events I've got in mind for it," Isobel answered excitedly, a distinct sparkle in her eyes.

"That's nice," Beryl smiled.

"If I can pull it off," Isobel shrugged. "Violet's not convinced, as expected. Sometimes I wonder why on earth Reggie got her involved as a partner. All she does is complain and lack of medical knowledge makes it worse. I supposed she believes she's got universal knowledge because she's a Countess."

The telephone rang in the living room. Loud and insistent. "Excuse me please," Isobel rose from her chair, excused herself and hurried in the direction of the living room.

"She's nice. Much nicer than I expected," Elsie commented when Isobel was out of sight.

"What did I tell you?" Beryl added with a smirk.

"A bit over enthusiastic but still…" Elsie giggled.

Isobel's voice sounded from the living room. The tone of her voice reflecting worry and distress. A couple of minutes passed by. Elsie and Beryl sat in silence, sipping their tea. A few minutes later Isobel returned to the kitchen. Her cheerful expression from earlier replaced with one of worry and anxiousness.

Isobel stood by her chair and held it with her right hand, leaning slightly towards it. Else and Beryl look at her expectantly, both feeling a bit awkward.

"Apparently one of the waiters are ill," Isobel sighed and sat down.

"Oh my god," Beryl blurted out and Isobel laughed let out a soft laugh at that. Elsie sighed and shook her head, classic Beryl.

"I wonder how on earth I'm supposed to find another one at such short notice, let alone get them prepared to serve. They'll not know where to start," Isobel rested her elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead. "I'll probably have to go without."

"Elsie could do it, couldn't you?" Beryl suggested.

"Me?" Elsie asked, her eyes wide as saucers in surprise.

"Well you know how and what to do. It's much easier than getting someone fresh or better than going on short of a waiter," Beryl added noting Elsie's surprise written clearly right across her face.

"Oh could you Elsie? It would such a great help for me," Isobel requested, turning looking at Elsie with pleading eyes.

For a moment Elsie couldn't believe what was happening around her. She had just accompanied Beryl to help with moving the things she needed for the catering of charity event simply because none of the delivery guys on Beryl's team were available. And now she had landed on to become a waiter at a posh charity event when she's already planned a relaxing evening for herself at her flat.

"I'm not sure…" Elsie stumbled.

"I'm sure you could get it right. As Beryl mentioned you do know how it all goes on," Isobel urged.

"Come on Elsie please," Beryl joined in.

Finally feeling trapped on all sides, and definitely finding it hard to refuse the request of the nice and kind woman beside her Elsie gave in. "Alright… I'll do it," she agreed nervously, wringing her hands beneath the table.

"You'll have black coloured slacks and a white shirt would you?" Isobel asked, now relief taking over her worry.

"Yeah… yeah… I guess… I suppose so… yeah," Elsie stuttered.

"Good. I'll fetch the waistcoat and the bow for the collar," Isobel beam hurriedly getting up from the table.

"Would the waistcoat fit?" Beryl asked. Elsie was in very good shape for her age but it still could be the one thing that could go off plan, she thought. For a fraction of a second Elsie wished it wouldn't fit.

Isobel eyed Elsie. "No I think it'll fit. Yes, it will. Give me second and I'll fetch it," Isobel rushed out of the kitchen.

Elsie slouched in her chair glaring daggers at Beryl, "Thank you very bloody much."

"It's just a small favour Elsie. You could even get some more new work, she knows a lot of people. It'll be good for your business," Beryl argued in a hushed voice.

"I had a nice, relaxing evening planned you know. A good glass of wine… perhaps two even, pizza, a pedicure for myself and a movie marathon with a face mask on," Elsie leaned a bit forward and complained and Beryl giggled picturing the scene.

"How can you compare that for an evening with good food, champagne and wonderful music," Beryl persisted.

"It's not like I'd be sitting at a table. I'd be bloody serving. Damn it," Elsie slouched back again.

"Oh come on Mary bloody Queen of Scots! Don't be such a grinch," Beryl rolled her eyes and muttered.

"Alright, alright. I'll do it," Elsie rolled her eyes in reply. "You will pay for this Beryl Patmore Mason, mark my words," Elsie hissed and sat straight as she saw Isobel enter the kitchen.

**To be continued…**

* * *

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews on the previous chapter. I'm so glad you liked it and I'd be grateful if you could let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the reviews. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with a new chapter! Thanks again!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

"What are you up to?" Beryl asked looking up from her chopping board at Elsie who was leaning on to Isobel's kitchen counter and scrolling through her smartphone.

"Nothing in particular," Elsie mumbled, her eyes fixed on her phone and her bottom lip between her teeth. "Just checking what's happening in the world and what's happening in my life."

"What's going on in the world?" Beryl questioned rather absent-mindedly, gesturing to Daisy to empty the contents on the chopping board into a bowl.

"Same old crap about Brexit and the Tories messing it all up," Elsie replied and continued to nibble her lip. Looking up from her phone for a moment, she fixed her gaze at an unfixed point in the distance to make a mental note and started typing on her screen, her fingernails making a clicking noise on the plastic screen.

Beryl laughed at that, "You sounded like my Albert there." She nodded towards Elsie's phone and inquired, "So… what's going on in your life that you seem to glean out of that contraption?"

"Just sent a message to Anna saying that my chances of turning up at work tomorrow are low and looked into the work that I have to go ahead with in the coming days _without _the relaxation I had planned for tonight," Elsie finished and looked up from her phone to scowl at Beryl.

"Here we go again!" Beryl sighed. "What's it with you and that bloody face mask and the blasted 'random genre' movie marathon?" she mocked placing her knife quite hard on the kitchen table as if to emphasize her point.

"What?" Elsie shrugged frowning at Beryl. "I just wanted to have some nice and quality time for myself. Forget work and everything else."

"Nice and quality time? With crappy films and a bloody face mask?" Beryl argued almost grabbing the bowl of washed carrots from a quite surprised Daisy.

"They are masterpieces I can tell you! I have taste!" Elsie protested, one hand coming to rest on her hip while the other clenched her smartphone. "Besides with the face mask… I like a bit of pampering myself every now and then, is that so wrong?"

"Why on earth did you come here early than Isobel asked you to? Marching up here stirring a storm around the rest of us?" Beryl grumbled chopping the poor carrots with an added vigour.

"Because I am punctual! I didn't know that it was a crime," Elsie scowled at Beryl and huffed when her friend did not look up to witness it.

"Not unless you turn into a damn thundering storm, your royal highness," Beryl burst out, looking up from her work to glare at Elsie.

Daisy cut Elsie's response short voicing a worry of her own, "Alfred's still not here. He said he'll be at Downton by this time. I wonder whether something has happened."

Beryl's frustration at Elsie came to be directed at Daisy with her untimely interruption on the ongoing battle, "He's a grown man Daisy! I think he knows well enough how to get on to and off a train or a bus by himself! Now listen to me! If you so much as mention his name in the next half an hour I'll knock you down and serve your brain as fritters!"

Daisy scowled at Beryl and went about to proceed with her tasks, with the inclusion of lots of additional clattering, more than the task would have ordinarily contained.

Turning to Elsie who remained glaring at her, Beryl started, "As for you…"

But she was cut short by a cheerful voice at the kitchen door saying "Hi!"

All three women in the kitchen looked towards the kitchen doorway to see a young girl with dark hair, pale blue eyes and rosy, full cheeks beaming at them dressed in a similar outfit to Elsie's "uniform" for the day, except that the thin bow tie hung completely unravelled and dangling from around her collar.

"Hi," Elsie returned in an ambivalent tone, straightening her posture and coming away from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Oh I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself," the young girl laughed lightly at her own error and continued, "I'm Sybil Crawley." She introduced herself and hastily took her right hand out of her trouser pocket. Her smile wide and very bright.

Elsie stepped closer to the girl and extended her hand with an equally bright, "I'm Elsie Hughes. Nice to meet you my dear." Noting the young girl's outfit she added, "Looks like we'll be on the same team."

"Yeah looks like it," Sybil shook Elsie's hand and when they parted it returned naturally back into her trouser pocket, "I just came in to meet everyone and say hello."

"Oh hello then sweetheart," Beryl chimed in, a little good humour creeping back into her thunderous mood.

Sybil smiled and looked back at Elsie, "I don't suppose we've met anywhere before?"

Elsie returned the young girl's smile, "I believe we haven't. You're from Lord Grantham's family, if I am not mistaken?"

"Yeah I am," Sybil blushed a bit and nodded. "I'm his youngest daughter."

"Haven't you… I don't know… got a fancy title my dear?" Beryl asked humorously and Elsie frowned at her. "What?" Beryl shrugged and looked sharply at Elsie, "I mean… I don't mean to be rude or anything, not in the least, just curious."

Sybil laughed, her head thrown slightly backwards, "Oh no I'm not offended at all… Mrs?" she paused and questioned having being unable to make the introductions complete earlier.

"Er… Mrs Mason. You can call me Beryl, love."

"Nice to meet you Mrs Mason… er… Beryl… I will remember that I promise," Sybil smiled and nodded, "and yeah technically it's supposed to be _Lady _Sybil Crawley. But I don't really care about that."

"I would very much if I had one of those," Beryl replied trying to hide her mirth and maintaining a straight face, "Lady Beryl Patmore Mason, fancy that?" Beryl straightened her shoulders and raised her head high to play the part.

"Oh if you did we would never have heard the end of it, _Your Ladyship_," Elsie countered with a smirk and Beryl let out an annoyed grunt. Turning her attention back to Sybil, Elsie began, "Never mind her. What do you do my dear? You work? Or…" Elsie paused feeling that mentioning what a 'Lady' would usually do, such as paying calls and the rest of it, as to being what Sybil does might sound a bit offensive given the young girl's clear declaration that she wasn't fond of the old and traditional ways.

"Yeah I do. I trained as a nurse. I suppose I was inspired by Isobel. Now I'm learning to work as a journalist. They seem quite unconnected, I know, but I like both of them. It's got so much meaning, those jobs. Besides, I don't think that just because I was born into an aristocratic family my life would have to consist of only pleasantries and social functions. I've always wanted to do some _real work_," Sybil paused for a moment and continued in a soft voice, "I don't know if you find that crazy."

"Not in the least," Elsie replied in admiration of the young girl's views, "I think it's wonderful and of course it's good to have more than one string to your bow."

"Thanks," Sybil smiled. "What do you do Elsie?"

"I'm an events planner," Elsie replied, shyly tilting her head a bit.

"Wow that is so awesome! I suppose you must be very good at it!" Sybil exclaimed and Beryl chuckled at Sybil's words.

"She is. Very good at it as I keep on saying to other people because her royal highness over there," Beryl pointed the end of her knife at Elsie, "is too damn shy to admit it."

"Beryl!" Elsie scowled causing both Sybil and Daisy, who was following the conversation happening around her, to chuckle.

"And what about you Beryl?" Sybil asked turning to Beryl.

"I run a catering service with my daughter Daisy over there," Beryl replied with a proud smile gesturing towards Daisy, who smiled politely at Sybil. "And since no one is there to admit it for me, I might as well say it myself, I am very good at it too!"

Elsie shook her head and laughed, "She is a brilliant! So is Daisy. Just don't tell her that her crumble is too soggy."

"I'll have you know, Elsie Hughes, my crumble is excellent," Beryl countered, raising her chin at Elsie.

"I'm so sorry my dear," Elsie said to Sybil, "we are boring you out with our old lady arguments."

"Oh no, not at all. I think I find them very entertaining," Sybil admitted laughing.

"You better hope you'll never see them do _real _arguing," Daisy added, turning to Sybil, "all hell breaks loose." Her words causing Beryl and Elsie to burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles and Sybil to laugh, raising an eyebrow.

* * *

"Don't be nervous. You're ready aren't you?" Beryl asked while Alfred, who had returned to Downton from London mere minutes ago, helped Elsie to balance the tray of drinks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Elsie replied wearing a determined expression, and taking a deep breath as the silver tray transferred from Alfred's hands to hers.

"Good luck then," Beryl encouraged her friend and called out once Elsie's back was turned to her, "and don't forget to smile. They're not paying good money to have thundering waiters."

"Leave her be Mom," Daisy shook her head, looking up from bowl of eggs she was beating.

"Oh be off with you," Beryl huffed and turning to Alfred who was grinning, she burst out, "and you better get started on the soufflés before I grow old and die! And here I was thinking that them Monsieurs at the Ritz might have knocked some sense into that head of yours."

* * *

Charles was late. Or at least he thought he was. The invitation said 7 pm and it was already 6.55. He was a couple of streets away from Isobel's and his taxi was stuck in an endless traffic. Glaring lights and endless honking was almost driving him mad. He glanced at his watch for probably the twenty fifth time within that five minutes. He had carefully planned the time he would set off, having taken into consideration the usual traffic in that area at that time, and set the time and booked a taxi hoping to arrive at Isobel's sharp at 7 pm. But this amount of traffic was something he never expected. At this rate it was highly unlikely that he would be there at least by 7.15pm.

He fiddled with his tie and turned it to and fro, from where it rested upon his shirt a few times, around the collar. He couldn't resist glancing at his watch another time. This seriously was not going to work and Charles hated to be late. Punctuality was one of his greatest virtues, whether it came with his profession or whether it was inbuilt in his system, he couldn't tell, but he simply could not tolerate tardiness.

"How much longer do you think it would take?" he asked, leaning towards the driving seat at bit from where he sat at the back.

"I'd say more than a good half an hour sir," the taxi driver answered looking at Charles over his shoulder.

"Good God!" Charles muttered to himself. Streets these days were so unpredictable. And certainly severely lacking in order and organisation.

"I'll stop here, thank you, if that's alright. I'm afraid I'm running dreadfully late. How much is it for here?" Charles asked, already reaching for his wallet. What a start to the evening, he thought.

* * *

Charles rushed past shops and houses along the street, trying hard not to collide onto other pedestrians using the pavement. Beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead were trickling down his cheeks and behind his ear and he was decidedly hot despite the cool air of the evening. He turned to Isobel's street and all but ran down it the first couple of metres but he managed to compose himself and resolved to brisk walking. Reaching into his coat pocket he took out a neatly folded handkerchief and dabbed at the trickles of sweat running down his face.

When reached Isobel's house, he climbed the steps up to the door in long strides. Wiping his face a final time, he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. He took a deep breath to calm himself, realising that it would take some more time for him to calm down entirely and rid his system of the shock, he knocked sharply on the door. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes past seven. A little better he thought.

The door opened in front of him and Isobel smiled at him. "Good evening Mr Carson," she greeted him formally.

"Good evening to you too Mrs Crawley," he nodded and smiled.

"Oh come on in please," Isobel gestured towards the hallway illuminated in bright lights. The sound of gentle music leaking through the open door and permeating the air around him.

Charles stepped inside and Isobel closed the door behind him. He looked around at the guests gathered. Several familiar faces, but still he most often found social functions to be terribly draining and he presumed that this would be no different. At least he was living through a society dinner for a good cause, he consoled himself, getting ready mentally to face the evening.

"I'm afraid I've got to nip away to the kitchen for a second Charles. Help yourself to anything okay?" Isobel said as she stepped in front of him. "And I saw Robert and Cora that way," she gestured towards the living room whether lots of people were gathered, laughing, smiling, making small talk… things he dreaded considerably, making useless small talk, putting on a fake smile and laughing at jokes which are not funny at all.

"Thank you Isobel," he nodded at her with a smile and watched as she made her way to the kitchen trying to take the longest strides she could in her dress and heels.

He looked back to the living room and spotted Robert in the distance chatting to Richard Clarkson. He made a sharp turn towards the living room but an accented voice to his side exclaimed, "Christ!" and he quickly glanced back over his shoulder.

A dark haired woman dressed in what he figured was a waiter's uniform was trying to balance a decidedly unsteady tray of drinks and also herself both which and whom, he figured, out might have narrowly missed being knocked off by him.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised, "Let me help you." Taking the tray from her hands he balanced it easily in one hand and allowed her time to steady herself. She absent-mindedly wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand with the other resting at her chest. Her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise…" he began but she shook her head and cut him short.

"Oh no it's my fault," she finally looked up at him and flashed an apologetic smile. "I was quite clumsy."

He noted the floating lilt of her Scottish accent as her voice glided over the syllables and worked a magic upon the vowels.

"Still, I should have watched where I was going," he replied. When she looked straight at him he noticed that her eyes were a bright shade of blue, perhaps the brightest shade of blue he had ever seen. He couldn't help but think how beautiful her smile looked, how it reached from her lips and crept into her eyes. And how her bottom lip between her teeth made her look adorable. Realising that he might have been staring at her, he cleared his throat as a cover up.

"It's alright. As long as we are both still in one piece and not… drenched, as well," she said with a laugh gesturing towards drinks on the tray he was holding. "And I must say you do that remarkably well," she said eyeing the ease with which he was holding it.

He smiled at that, looking down at the tray. It came naturally to him, years of practise included as well. But he didn't quite feel like relating that to her.

"And thank you… I think I can manage now," she said flashing a brighter smile this time. "Mr..." she paused, looking at him expectantly.

"Er… Carson," he replied and berated himself for how awkward it sounded.

"Thank you Mr Carson," she repeated her name and he smiled at the way she pronounced his name, the 'r' in particular, which he thought to be quite endearing, paired with her sparkling blue eyes. He passed the tray into her hands and she balanced it in her hands with some difficulty. "I'm still trying to get the hang of it. Would you like a drink Mr Carson?" she offered, extending the tray slightly towards him.

"Thank you," he said accepting a glass from her tray.

She smiled at him and proceeded towards the other end of the living room while his eyes followed her form. The way she tried her best to balance the tray while walking so gracefully. She was doing it quite well, he noted, would be much better with a little bit more practise. What surprised him was he couldn't remember if he had met her before. No, he hadn't. She didn't even look familiar so she couldn't be from Isobel's circle of friends. And a Scottish accent at that too! To say that Charles was curious was an understatement. He badly wanted, no, he needed, to know who she was, the woman with the bright blue eyes and the endearing Scottish brogue.

It took him a moment to realise that he had been lost in observing her voice and her eyes that he had forgotten to even ask what her name was.

There's more time, he will ask her later, he thought.

After all the evening was still young.

**To be continued…**

* * *

**Thank you all so very much for all the reviews on the previous chapters! I am so glad to know that you are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing this. And also, I would be very grateful if you could let me know your thoughts about this chapter and this story in the reviews. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with a new chapter! Thanks again!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

Music from the living room floated into the kitchen and the performer's voice rose above the recording of the track. The after dinner entertainment was a variety performance by volunteers. The spectators, his friends probably, cheered him on as he sang and the performer's giggles mingled with his singing. The song ended with the singer emphasising the last lyric going almost an octave higher than before, way out of pitch compared to the original song. A loud round of applause boomed and Isobel took charge of the microphone again asking who else wanted to perform. "Any act of your wish. Singing, dancing, magic tricks or miming even," she suggested.

Elsie shuddered as she leant against the kitchen table, staring out at the kitchen window. Outside, a pitch black darkness had spread its velvet folds across the sky. The fluorescent light bulb in the kitchen glared at the darkness outside, pushing it to the boundaries of the window. Defending the house, defending the happiness and cheer that blossomed a few feet away. Elsie wasn't very fond of amateur performances. She usually watched them of course, most of them thought they were excellent at what they were doing but in fact were only moderate. But they were taking a risk, making an effort and Elsie appreciated it. But tonight, she was too drained. Instead she seeked the isolation of the kitchen. Even Beryl, Daisy and Alfred stood in a corner of the living room watching, smiling and clapping. They had insisted that Elsie join them, but she had managed to persuade them to leave her be.

She had played her part, albeit with some resistance (after all she wasn't Elsie Hughes if she didn't put up a fight) and she certainly deserved some solace. Sybil relieved her from after dinner drinks, volunteering to cover for her. Elsie thanked Sybil and was truly grateful for the sweet, young girl. For Sybil, it was home ground, familiar territory, people she knew. Elsie barely knew anyone present. So while Sybil and the other waiters laughed and joked, made small talk, Elsie acted strictly in a professional manner. A polite smile and professional words which were familiar to her with her line of work was the card she played, and it was exhausting.

She sipped the glass of whiskey she had poured for herself. Strangely, relishing the cold, fiery liquid that trickled down her throat with a mild burn. She was a paradox when it came to liquor. For while she was a red wine kind of person she was also a whiskey kind of person. While she could appreciate the rich undertones of a good glass of red wine she also relished the fiery taste of whiskey, and watching the amber coloured liquid swirl around the glass.

A deep voiced throat clearing somewhere behind her made turn around with a start, causing half of her drink to land on the floor. She looked down at the drink spilled on the floor and muttered a curse before looking up to see who had interrupted her reverie.

Standing near the opposite end of the kitchen table was Mr Carson looking sheepishly at her.

"I'm so sorry. It's the second time I caused you to spill your drink," he apologised with a pleading smile.

It was rather funny, that kind of smile upon his face, considering his tall, broad stature and usually severe expressioned face, that Elsie forgot her initial anger and laughed.

"Last time you _nearly _got the drinks spilled but you didn't _actually _manage to get them spilled. But this time you did! You never do things by halves, do you Mr Carson?" she joked raising an eye brow at him.

Charles chuckled at her look combined with her lilting voice, "I suppose I don't."

Placing the glass on the table, Elsie looked around for cloth to mop the spilt drink up. "Ha!" she exclaimed when she found one.

"Uh let me help you with it," Charles offered taking a step forward but Elsie raised a hand to stop him.

"I've got this," she smiled and bent on her knees letting out a soft groan when her knees creaked. Realising that it wouldn't do, she knelt on the floor and began to wipe carefully at the spill.

Charles watched quite helplessly as she mopped up the spilled drink. He watched how her dark hair fell in front of her pale face. Her long neck bent forward as she focussed on her task. Her sharp suit and how she carried it with grace. And for the first time that evening, he thought she looked beautiful.

"So Mr Carson," she began, looking up at him from where she knelt on the floor, "what brings you here? Escaping the after dinner entertainment are you?"

"Yes. I despise those, truth be told," he replied shrugging his shoulders and Elsie laughed. "What about you?" he asked, curious to know what she was doing alone in the kitchen.

"Quite the same as what you were hoping to do. And also because I don't know anyone there and I feel so out of place," she smiled. "And I'm terribly tired as well. There, it's done." She rose from the floor, holding on briefly to the leg of the table for support. She left the cloth on the kitchen table and stepped in front of the sink to wash her hands.

"You're a friend of Isobel's?" Charles asked, sipping on his glass of brandy.

"Well, I wouldn't say so," Elsie replied drying her hands on a dish cloth nearby. "My friend Beryl did the catering. And I just stepped in this morning to help her move her stuff 'cause both the delivery guys on her team was unavailable. But Isobel was one waiter short and Beryl _kindly _volunteered me."

"I sense that a lot of sarcasm went into that 'kindly'," Charles chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. He observed the mischievous spark dancing in them.

"You sense right," Elsie deadpanned.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? I didn't even make a proper introduction. I'm Charles Carson," he held his hand in front of him.

"Elsie Hughes. Nice to meet you," she shook his hand. She smiled at him and for a second she wondered if his eyes were a deep brown or a black. Deep brown, she presumed. She thought his name suited him well. It sounded quite solid, strong and graceful. Much like him.

"Likewise," he returned. He wondered if 'Elsie' was short for something else. 'Elisabeth' or 'Elspeth' even. A sensible, quite old fashioned name, he thought. Nevertheless, a lovely name.

"So what do you do Mr Carson?" she asked him. One hand on her hip and one hand on the kitchen counter.

"Oh Charles please," he said and couldn't help but notice how well her posture suited her sassy talk and self. She was beautiful, not afraid to speak her mind, completely herself and quite different from the other women he had met. And that Scottish lilt… "I am the manager of Downton Abbey," he answered her question, rather embarrassed that his position might sound too grand to her, but still proud of it all the same.

"Oh, quite fancy if I may say so," she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And very grand," she added.

"It is," he smiled. "But it's not like I have my feet up all day."

"I believe not, given the sheer size of that house!" she laughed and he joined in.

"What about you Miss Hughes or is it Mrs?" Charles asked, feeling as if his heart almost skipped a beat during the half second she took to give her answer.

"It's Miss, though I look ancient," she laughed bitterly. "Though I go by Mrs in retail shops. It's easier to get the sales assistants to do what you want when you pretend to be a strict, old Mrs. Works much better than Miss." He laughed at that, amused by her wit and failed to notice the mildly self-deprecating tone her voice took.

"If I may say so, you don't… look ancient," Charles replied, his voice low. He wanted to say beautiful for she was more than 'pretty.' But compliments were hard for him, he wanted to dare himself, but changed his mind quickly. She might feel uncomfortable with a stranger saying such things, he thought.

Elsie smiled and looked down at her feet. Looking back up, her eyes fixed on the other end of the kitchen she said, "Most of my employees think I'm a horrid, difficult spinster." She laughed bitterly again, much bitterly than before.

"Then they've never heard about me," Charles chuckled. His words lightened the mood and Elsie laughed cheerfully. Charles found her smile beautiful and adorable. It lit up her entire face. Shaking himself from his thoughts he asked, "You work Elsie?"

"Yeah I do. I'm an events planner," she answered. "And to approximately quote my best friend 'her royal highness is very good at it but too damn shy to admit it.' There, self-advertising, done and dusted." She deadpanned and Charles chuckled.

"That's wonderful. It's quite challenging isn't it?" he asked, nervously turning his glass of brandy around on the palm of his other hand.

"It is, even at the best of times," she said as she turned her back to the kitchen counter and leaned against it facing him. Charles took a few steps towards his left to face her at a better angle. "So what does the manager of Downton Abbey do?" she asked looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It's mainly coordinating the daily running of the place. Arranging the special occasions. Managing the place when it comes weddings and the sort, now that it serves as a venue for that as well. And some other duties added into the picture as well," he replied. "It might sound a bit complicated."

"It already does," she took a few steps forward and leant towards the kitchen table to retrieve the remainder of her drink. "But isn't it like… I don't know… an agent who does those stuff in a big house such as that?"

His eyes followed her movements as she retrieved her drink. He couldn't take his eyes off her as her action moved her closer to him for a moment. The way her fingers wrapped around the glistening glass, her fluid movements and glossy, auburn hair. It's only after she was settled back again at the kitchen counter, glass in hand, and looking at him with an expectant expression that he realised he had been too lost in his thoughts and had forgotten to answer her question. He cleared his throat to hide his awkwardness. "No, the agent manages the estate. I manage the house."

"So you're like a Butler, had it been the last century?" she inquired and placed the glass against her lips to take a sip of her drink. The amber liquid slipping between her lips from the tilted glass.

"Quite," Charles answered, his gaze following every tiny movement of hers. There was something about her that he couldn't quite place. But something that drew him to her. "But I suppose my post has more duties than that of a Butler."

"Hmmm," she hummed as she swallowed, her eyes crinkling by an infinitesimal fraction as the liquor made its way down her throat. She noticed how his eyes followed her. She also noticed his deep voice, the kind depths of his eyes despite his tall, broad and imposing stature. There was something about him that made her heart flutter. She couldn't quite place it, but there was something about him. There was certainly something about him.

Both their gazes rested upon each other. His brown eyes venturing into the depths of her blue ones, searching or observing, taking in. An almost magnetic force held their eyes together, blurring and muffling the world around them. For a couple of seconds till…

"Oh there you are!" Isobel's voice sounded from the doorway and both Elsie and Charles looked at the doorway with start, startled expression upon both their faces. "There you _both _are!" Isobel stepped into the kitchen. "Fleeing the entertainment I assume?"

"I… erm…" Charles stuttered, feeling guilty that he had let Isobel down and also embarrassed not knowing whether the older woman had noticed the moment that had passed between him and Elsie.

"I'll forgive you just this once," Isobel smiled and crossed her hands in front of her. "It's almost over anyway."

"I assume Robert didn't get a go at the microphone," Charles commented and Isobel shook her head.

"No, he didn't or else you would have heard. He was far too drunk to manage it and Cora managed to keep him away from it anyway. We all know drunk or sober Robert _most certainly cannot _sing but he never gets it," Isobel laughed softly and Charles smiled politely. He liked Robert both as an old friend and an employer but he couldn't deny Isobel's point.

Isobel turned to Elsie and smiled warmly. "Thank you so, so much Elsie. I'm very grateful for your help. Thank you for coming to my rescue."

Elsie returned Isobel's smile "Beryl's the one you've got to thank. She's the one who wouldn't let me get away with it." Elsie knew it was the truth and she couldn't readily accept Isobel's praise when she had resisted the whole idea initially.

"Really Elsie I mean it. You were a great help," Isobel persisted.

Elsie smiled, touched by Isobel's words. "Sorry for deserting you after dinner without serving the drinks."

"Sybil told me she was covering for you. She told how hard you worked and that you deserved a break. In fact she told me you worked the hardest," Isobel placed her hand on Elsie's arm and squeezed gently.

"I was just doing what I can and she's a lovely girl so she's bound to exaggerate," Elsie patted Isobel's hand gently and smiled.

"Nonsense! Anyway Beryl said she's got dinner ready for the waiters but I wondered if you'd like to skip it. You must be dreadfully tired after helping Beryl _and _going through this extra trouble for me?" Isobel asked as Elsie considered her options.

"I'd like to get back home if you don't mind Isobel. I'd love to stay but…" Elsie stuttered as she tried to decline politely. She didn't want to hurt Isobel by an outright "no" but all Elsie wanted after the long day to get back to the comfort of her flat and relax.

Isobel nodded, "Don't worry I totally understand." When Elsie tried to interrupt with an apology and explanation, Isobel raised her hand to stop Elsie and smiled at her. "And before you tried to apologise and be afraid that you've disappointed me, I'm not in the least offended. You've been a great help and I'm very grateful. And you most certainly deserve a long rest after a day like today."

"Thanks," Elsie smiled gratefully.

"I'll ask Beryl to fix you something to take away with you. You must be starving by now," Isobel smiled and turned to leave to find either Beryl or Daisy when Charles stopped her.

"Isobel," he said and continued after she faced him. "I should get going as well."

"Aren't you staying for another drink? Another cup of coffee perhaps?" Isobel enquired, looking up at Charles.

"I'm afraid I can't. I'm sorry. I've booked the taxi already, much earlier really and it's supposed to arrive shortly."

"Oh very well then," Isobel smiled at him. "Thank you so much for coming."

"My pleasure," he replied and leaned forward to kiss Isobel's cheek.

"I'll go fetch Beryl… or Daisy," Isobel hurriedly left.

"So… Mr Carson," Elsie said, standing straight from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter. "It was very nice to meet you."

"You too," Charles nodded. A pang of sadness or disappointment, he couldn't really name the feeling, perhaps both, struck through his heart. They had only just started the conversation and it was already time to leave. Could he ask if he could see her again? Would it be too forward, too bold? Was this a final goodbye before it was even a proper hello?

"I hope I'll see you around at something or another like this," Elsie said. She noted the shadow that crossed his eyes. Disappointment, she thought. Frankly she felt the same. She would have liked to talk more, get to know more about the tall, deep voiced Manager of Downton Abbey with his somewhat old fashioned politeness which she surprisingly liked. His deep, brown eyes… She shook her head mentally. What could she suggest, really? Time was running out in seconds…

"Yes," he agreed. "Perhaps…" he began but Isobel's arrival cut him short.

"Beryl's on her way," Isobel announced and left.

Charles looked back at Elsie who smiled rather sadly. "Well…"

"It was nice meeting you," Elsie said extending her hand. She didn't know what else to say despite deep in her mind, she desperately wanted to say something better than that.

"Likewise," he agreed and shook her hand firmly, holding on not willing to let go. None of them willing to let their hands go.

Finally, Charles gave in and let her hand go. Elsie felt him loosening his grip on her hand. She swallowed, unsure. Without thinking properly, she allowed her fingers to trail along his hand as he returned his hand to his side. A second later, she regretted it. What must he have thought of her, being so bold, so brazen even? She averted her gaze from his and looked at the floor and then back at him. A small sigh escaped her lips but it didn't reach his ears for Beryl was in the hallway that led to the kitchen calling out loudly to Daisy.

He smiled once more at her, nodded and turned towards the door. She kept on watching his retreating form as he left the kitchen and tried not to wonder if she would ever cross paths with Charles Carson again.

**To be continued…**

* * *

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! I'm so glad that you all like this story so far. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for this chapter. Real life intervened and inspiration ran a bit low. I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible. I would be very grateful if you could let me know in the reviews your thoughts on this chapter and this story so far. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you soon with the next!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

Charles looked at his watch impatiently probably for the umpteenth time within that two minutes as he stood on Isobel's doorstep. His taxi was nearly twenty minutes late and the delay was certainly not helping his mood. His wide eyebrows were knitted in annoyance, he grunted and proceeded to cross his arms in front of him. The bright lights of the house opposite Isobel's annoyed him further as the notes of some horrendous modern music forced its way into the street. He couldn't help but notice through the window with its curtains open, how a young couple "vaped", oblivious to the loud music that thundered around them. A habit which irritated him to no end. They were not cigarettes, yes, but they were still the same thing to him. He's had enough of cigarettes for a lifetime with Barrow, his assistant, often looking like a steam engine during breaks. It did strike as odd to him, that the young couple and the whole bubble they've made in that house didn't match the house itself. Two modern young people, too racy for his tastes, in a house that grand and gracious. Maybe the elders are away or something, he concluded.

He glanced back over the shoulder instinctively as the door opened and closed behind him and did a double take as he realised who had opened the door.

"Hello," he greeted Elsie Hughes who had just stepped out of Isobel's House with a sour expression on her face to match his. He made way for her to stand next to him.

"Hi," she replied, an irritated note lacing her voice. "Thought you were gone already."

"My cab is late," he answered and kept on watching as she fished her smartphone out of her trouser pocket and began tapping at it annoyedly with her thumb.

"You're…er… driving back? Or taking a cab," he asked, as he uncrossed his arms and tucked one hand into his trouser pocket.

Elsie looked up from her phone to him. "Cab. I thought I'd get an Uber. Bloody app is crashing and it's messing up the rest of the phone as well," she answered and let out a frustrated sigh.

Charles didn't really get half the things Elsie mentioned in that sentence. He's heard about apps from Robert's girls and Barrow and he knew that it was something to do with those ridiculous smartphones and that was about it. Uber, he knew to be taxi service on phones, one he had not the slightest interest in. He cared neither for the fancy phones nor the fancy taxi services in them. He owned an old fashioned phone with buttons, not even a BlackBerry because he despised the rows of keys that looked like the mouth of a monster. Mary gave one to him for his birthday, two years back and he used it only for two days and was still in its box in the farthest end of the cabinet downstairs. And he preferred the way of booking a taxi by calling a company, even though the operators annoyed him, or better still hailing one off the street.

"Oh," was the only reply he could give to her sentence. "What are you going to do?" he asked a moment later, while Elsie was still battling with her phone.

"I don't know, either get this sorted or get one from the street, she replied and looked up from her phone at the dark street that stretched in front of them. "It must be hard though getting one at this time of the night, from this street." She bit her bottom lip as she contemplated the options, her gaze still upon the street.

Charles smiled lightly at her gesture. He found it rather adorable. "Perhaps," he began and Elsie looked up at him. "Which way are you going?"

"A couple of streets before the village green. Close to Haughton-le-Skerne. Why?" Elsie asked, puzzled.

"Well, I've a cab booked. It's late to arrive but it's still booked and it's supposed to come. Perhaps I could drop you," he suggested. Observing the tense expression on her face and guessing what she might be reading into his offer, he got flustered and blurted out, "I'm sorry Miss Hughes, that wasn't thoughtful of me… of course I understand if you find unable the suggestion unacceptable. Please forgive me if I've offen-."

"Oh please Mr Carson," Elsie said cutting him off. "It's not that I don't trust you. I've seen a bit of life and no mistake, I can see that you are not the type of person who would take advantage of another." She paused and having noted that he understood what she subtly phrased, then continued, "It's just that I don't want to impose on you."

Charles couldn't help but beam a little at Elsie's implication that she trusted him. Of course he was not that sort of man! He would never even dream of taking advantage of innocent women who found themselves in a difficult predicament. He looked deep into Elsie's blue eyes, darkened by the dim light around them. The annoying noise from across the street dying away in his mind as he focussed on her.

"Of course not, you are not imposing Miss Hu-," he paused, "Elsie. I'm going towards Downton Abbey anyway. I wouldn't mind dropping you off." A second later he added as an afterthought, "In fact I'd be delighted!"

Elsie smiled at him. Her eyes drifted to his greying hair, neatly combed, except for one errant curl that had found its way on to his forehead, and back to his deep brown eyes. "Thank you Charles," she said, carefully pronouncing his name. "That is very kind of you."

"Not at all," he replied, regretting the fact that he had to reply in order to be polite. He would have preferred for the night to go quiet in his mind after the sound of her voice pronouncing his name had dissolved into the air around them.

She broke her gaze which was fixed with his and looked at the house that was opposite Isobel's. The girl, who was seated, laughed at something the boy, who was leaning against the frame of window, said. The smoke from the vapes forming a thick cloud around them.

"Funny isn't it, how times change," she said, her eyes still looking ahead.

"It's a topsy turvy world we live in now," Charles agreed, his eyes following the path of hers.

"You talk as if it's entirely a bad thing," she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and smirked.

"Isn't it?" He leant a bit to look better at her and taken aback by her implication.

"Well… I think people must move on with the changing world. It's not the world of our childhood today," She raised an eyebrow at him.

"But that," he waved his hand randomly, in the direction of the house opposite, "is the future you want to so gladly embrace?" His voice with a hint of disgust.

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I don't mean take in everything. Every era had its good and bad. I'm saying we have to…" she paused. "Look, could a young couple like them have time to themselves so easy a century ago? Forget it, even fifty years ago." She nodded pointedly in the opposite direction. "Those two may not be the ideal example perhaps, but it's the idea of their closeness that I'm referring to." The young man at the window took the girl's hand in his kissed her palm just in time with her comment.

"You may be right there, but it's a lot more complicated than that for instance…"

Elsie cut him short with a question. "What are you afraid of?"

Charles couldn't think of an answer, only kept looking at her determined expression. There was a fire in her eyes, embers glowing. Yet with the undertones of a warm glow of waiting to understand him. How could he even begin to answer that question? Everything he had believed in, based his life upon, had been tested in the past years, at times with a brutal painfulness about it. And that had made him to fear the future. The past was neat and orderly and the present was strewing it all over the place.

Before he could voice the answer that he had pieced together, loud honk caused him to look away from her and at the street. A cab had stopped in front of them.

The driver lowered his shutter and called out, "Mr Charles Carson?"

"Yes," Charles answered gruffly. His irritation at the driver's tardiness full on display.

"I'm sorry I was late. Some mess up at the operations centre," the driver said in a thick Yorkshire accent, eyeing Charles' near fuming figure with caution.

"But it's over twen…" Charles began in a tone that margined rudeness.

But Elsie spoke up before he could complete whatever comment he was about to make, "It's alright." She smiled briefly at the driver and frowned looking up at Charles.

"Very well," Charles muttered beneath his breath and eased his angry expression. Quickly making his way down the steps of the house, he opened the door of the car and stepped aside waiting for Elsie.

"Oh thank you Mr Carson," Elsie smiled and quickly made her way down the stairs and got in to the car.

Charles closed the door carefully and walked over the other side of the car and opened the door. Closing the door on his side a bit harder than Elsie's he turned to the driver. "You've got the destination?"

"Yes sir. Downton Abbey isn't it?" he asked, looking at Charles from the driving mirror.

"Yes, it is. But we'll go through towards Haughton-le-Skerne first."

"Of course," the driver nodded and directed the car towards the street.

Elsie looked at Charles from the corner of her eye. He was too focussed on the road to notice her eyeing him, so she turned her head towards him by a minute angle to observe him more carefully. She found him to be a proper gentleman, the kind that took their age upon them with grace and charm instead of trying desperately to live out their youth back again and appearing quite ridiculous. He was also a typical Englishman at first look. Few words, seemingly unsentimental and polite gestures to the point that it would seem to be stuffy.

When the car was back in the road and moving forward, he took his eyes off the road. Feeling he was being watched, he instinctively turned to his side and in time caught her watching him. She averted her eyes quickly to stare at the side was the road that was moving past them. She fiddled with the handles of the large paper bag that Beryl had made for her for her dinner. He wrung his hands and glanced for a second at the passing landscape, all too familiar.

He cleared his throat and Elsie whipped her head round to face him, eyes wide. Nervousness, awkwardness, he couldn't really place what it was.

"I was wondering…" Charles began, taking his time in enunciating the words to make time for his mind to process the way he wanted to direct the conversation with her towards.

He couldn't complete his thought let alone his sentence because the driver commented out of the blue, "It was a lovely summer's day innit?"

Charles glared at the man who was completely unaware of the death glare that was projected at his back.

"Bloody nuisance," Charles muttered almost inaudibly and only Elsie heard him. He started out in a gruff tone, "I don't see what-"

She frowned at him and intercepted whatever angry retort Charles was about to fire at the driver, "Yes it was."

"Love the sun, me. Never been one for rain and I hate rainy summer days. Me wife used to say…" the driver trailed off in in his broad, Yorkshire accent, not bothering to pay any mind as to whether anyone was actually paying attention to his monologue.  
Charles sighed and looked out of the window, annoyed that he couldn't continue the conversation with Elsie and ask what he had intended to at the beginning of the conversation. He frowned as he stared blankly at the darkness outside.

Beside him Elsie bit her lip as she politely kept up the conversation with the driver, not that she got to or had to do much of talking. She looked over at Charles who was staring out through the glass, the way he seemed to be frowning and at the way his fist was clenched and trembling slightly as he tried to hide his frustration. She too began to feel terribly impatient as the driver chattered on but she could never be rude and ask him to stop, that wasn't her.

Elsie made her contribution to her conversation with the driver out of politeness (not that it could really be called a conversation because at most points she didn't even have to respond, the driver carried on), but continued to observe Charles Carson. Though he was turned to his side, looking out of the window, and despite the darkness that was growing upon the surroundings, she could make out his features quite clearly. Occasionally a passing streetlight would illuminate his form completely and then she paid close attention, the driver's mostly one-sided conversation blurring into the side lines. The glorious Yorkshire landscape failed to arrest her attention because her gaze was well and truly fixed on one particular Yorkshireman, a tall, handsome Yorkshireman with a deep voice and brown eyes.

"Oh bloody hell," the driver muttered beneath his breath and Charles' head whipped forward. Elsie awkwardly directed her gaze away from Charles to the front of the car, and felt a bit relieved that Charles had not noticed her staring at him.

"What?" Charles asked both surprised and gruffly.

"Bloody hell, bloody hell," the driver continued to mutter, albeit much softly than before as he directed the car to the side of the road and stopped the engine.

"What is it?" Charles inquired again, annoyance creeping into his voice in a way that Elsie dreaded. The slow and steady build up before the burst.

"The engine's seizing up I suppose," the driver replied observing the various scales in front of the steering wheel. The luminous light upon the dials glaring at the light from the streetlight a few steps behind where they had parked.

"What do you mean _seizing up_?" Charles questioned, decidedly annoyed now. Elsie remained quiet, her brow furrowed.

" 'appened early today, I didn't think it would come back. I thought it was something minor," the driver replied, proceeding to fiddle with the controls.

"Doesn't seem like something minor if it was repeated," Charles added leaning forward from the seat to catch a glimpse of what the man at the front was doing.

"Yeah, seems like it," the driver replied, and Charles was literally fuming at his words.

"Didn't it occur to you-," Charles began but Elsie, realising that an argument over a situation that could not be fixed easily would be worthless, cut him short.

"And you don't think you'll be able to continue to the destination?" Elsie asked. Charles stared at her with eyebrows knitted and his face red with a mixture of anger and annoyance. He clearly wanted to give the driver a piece of his mind before planning anything else. He crossed his arms in front of him.

"No ma'am I don't think so," the driver turned in his seat to face them with a pleading expression on his face.

"Alright," Elsie nodded and bit her lip as the man turned forward and proceeded to remove his seat belt.

"What do you mean 'alright'? We're stranded in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night!" Charles exclaimed.

"It's hardly nowhere, as if you don't know this area. And it's hours till midnight. Don't exaggerate Mr Carson," Elsie sighed and shook her head. She knew very well how annoyed men could behave like children and the fact that this specific one had a booming voice (even in ordinary conversation) didn't help matters.

"Exaggerate? I'm just stating facts Miss Hughes!" Charles boomed and Elsie was thankful the driver was out of the car, opening the bonnet. She couldn't believe she was having this disagreement with someone who was only slightly different from a virtual stranger.

"Now look here Mr Carson. This is a situation none of us can help. Only thing we can do is to find a way around it," Elsie said, her voice steady and even, but the glare she directed at him instantly put him in his place.

"Of course… ehm… I'm… I'm terribly sorry Miss Hughes," Charles replied sheepishly and uncrossed his arms. "Please forgive me."

Elsie smirked. It was rather sweet, his apology. One minute he was like a petulant child and in the next he was the perfect gentleman. "Elsie," she added softly. No matter how much, she wanted to be mad at him, she just couldn't. Had it been any other man, he would have seen the fearful side of her temper. It was not without reason that her some of her colleagues and most of her employees had nicknamed her 'The Scottish Dragon' behind her back. But with him, she didn't feel like it. She didn't want to be mad at him.

His gaze rested on hers back again. "Elsie," he repeated in the softest tone he could manage and let his lips form a soft smile. "Still… I'm very sorry."

"Apology accepted," Elsie smiled. She turned slightly and took the handles of the paper bag she was taking with her in her hand. She opened the door and got out. Charles followed her lead on the opposite side.

"How much will that be?" she asked from the driver.

"Oh please let me," Charles interrupted.

"No Charles it's alright I'll pay."

"No I will."

"Go Dutch then?"

"I insist Elsie," he said firmly staring deep into her eyes and she relented. Elsie nodded.

Having paid the driver, they moved a few steps forward and paused staring at the road ahead of them, gradually hiding in the veil of the night.

"Now what are we going to do?" Charles said, his hands making their way into his trouser pockets.

"Try finding another taxi of course," Elsie replied, already tapping on her phone to check if Uber was working.

"Easier said than done," Charles muttered.

"I heard that," Elsie remarked, her eyes still fixed on the screen of her smartphone. "Bloody app is not working as yet," she said looking up from her phone to Charles.

"See? What did I tell you about those new gadgets?" Charles said, a triumphant look making its way on to his face.

"Don't you start," Elsie rolled her eyes.

"I'll try calling a taxi," Charles fished out his own phone and proceeded to look to up the number of the company. Having found one he dialled it and absent-mindedly took a step away from where he was standing beside Elsie. Elsie clutched the handles of the paper bag in both her hands and waited for him.

A few minutes passed and Charles was now connected with the third company. Elsie found herself humming the melody of a new song she's heard on one of Daisy's CDs, a catchy tune she instantly picked up once when she was visiting Beryl. She stopped mid melody. She couldn't remember clearly how the rest of it sounded like. The words were swimming in her mind, quite muddled, of course. But she just couldn't make out how the rest of it sounded like, so she began again from the chorus.

A few steps beside her Charles thundered, "What do you mean there aren't any available? Isn't this England?" He angrily pushed the end button with more force than it required.

"No luck?" Elsie asked as he made his way towards her.

"None available! Can you believe it? None! Called three damned companies and none available!"

"Well…" Elsie sighed. "There's no other option then."

"What is the remaining one? We can't very well wait here till a taxi turns up out of the blue."

"Walk." Elsie answered nonchalantly and Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Walk?! What do you mean _walk?_" He asked, quite confused.

"Yes, you heard it right, walk. Till we either get a taxi or get home."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I actually am not." Elsie replied, pulling a much serious face.

"This is ridiculous! You really can't be serious Elsie." Charles shook his head.

"I am being perfectly serious," Elsie deadpanned. Observing the look on his face, she added with a much softer expression, her head tilted "Go on Mr Carson. We can afford to live a little."

"Aren't you worried about thieves?" Charles asked, making an effort to sound and look serious but he couldn't avoid the glint of mischief that sparkled in his eyes.

Elsie rolled her eyes at him, "This is England Mr Carson. So not particularly, no."

Charles laughed at that. "Remind that to me when we are sitting in a police station to make a complaint about a robbery."

"Oh ye of little faith," Elsie shook her head and smiled. Her words unintentionally coming out in a more pronounced Scottish accent. Unknown to her Charles stored the memory of her voice at the back of his mind, hoping to repeat it again in his head along with the image of her face framed in the growing darkness and lit gently by starlight.

**To be continued…**

* * *

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! I'm very grateful! I'm so glad that you all like this story so far. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting long for this chapter, so here's a longer chapter than usual in hope of making up for the delay. Real life intervened (university is becoming tougher now) and inspiration ran a bit low. But I'm back now and I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible. I would be very grateful if you could let me know in the reviews your thoughts on this chapter and this story so far. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Hope to see you soon with the next!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter took quite long to be published and I think it might be helpful if you went through the previous chapter before reading this one. Thank you so much for bearing up with me. **

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

"This is a ridiculous idea!" Charles muttered, looking up at the sky. A veil of blue and purple played against the pitch black. Stars peeped from behind the veil of darkness.

"Oh I know you are enjoying this late night walk Mr Carson. Don't you try and deny it!" Elsie rolled her eyes and smirked, swinging her free hand as she walked beside him.

"Daft," Charles added and Elsie shook her head. "Alright, I give in. It's quite nice," he admitted.

Elsie's face burst into a smile, her eyes fixed ahead at the road, faintly sparkling from light from streetlights and from houses along the road. Charles looked down at her, watching her face from the side. The way the loose tendrils of hair framed her face, captivated his vision. The flutter of her lips as she unconsciously tried to suppress her smile. The pale skin of her face against the darkness that was closing in upon them. An occasional street lamp illuminating further, the brightness that shone in her smile. The rhythm of her walk and the faint sound of her heels clicking on the pavement.

"See? Not such a bad idea," she said looking up at him and then looked down to switch the paper bag to her other hand.

Charles cleared his throat. He turned the question he was about to ask, around in his mind, hesitating to voice it. He tried to appear as if he was not staring at her face, but the play of light upon her was simply irresistible. And the words were out before he could think or stop himself, "So, how does a beautiful Scotswoman find herself in England?"

Elsie whipped her head up to face him, a startled expression in her eyes. The questioning raise of an eyebrow. Charles berated himself mentally for not thinking twice. Calling her beautiful out of the blue was perhaps not a very good start, Charles thought. But his fears were put to rest when she smiled, within a few seconds, once she got over the initial surprise.

"It's a long story," Elsie answered, her voice soft and low as he turned her gaze away from him. A shadow making its way onto her face for a moment, before a burst of light wiped it off her face. She couldn't believe that he had just called her beautiful. She prided herself in her quality of not being a vain woman and Elsie didn't usually see herself as beautiful, more presentable than beautiful. There were days of course, when she would look at herself in the mirror and realise she did look beautiful. But it wasn't a thought that she allowed to dwell in her mind for long. But his question… Her story… she wasn't sure how to begin, what to tell. She wasn't so sure if she was ready to share it… for hers was not story of glitter and glamour. More of a grim tale of working class girl, struggling to make her way in the world. Not one, she thought, that a gentleman who moved in the social circles that he did, would want to know.

For a moment Charles wondered if her voice carried a ghost of the past, haunting her mind and clouding her voice. He ruled it down to nostalgia.

"I'm all in for a long story. Very fond of Dickens, you know." Charles smiled at her hoping his tone would relax her and he felt glad when he heard her chuckle at his words.

"Are you now?" she asked, a laugh bubbling within her. The sudden glimmer of melancholy and anxiety from earlier gone. It amazed her, how at one moment he was ever the gentleman, so proud and proper and in the next he was light-hearted and free. Two glaring contrasts.

"Absolutely! Read all of them over thrice in my lifetime," Charles replied proudly, unconsciously straightening his back and shoulders. A wide grin upon his face, that Elsie thought didn't quite match his proud posture.

This time Elsie laughed, her head thrown backwards her eyes crinkled, amused by the concoction of his actions words and expressions. The sound of her laugh ringing in the still air and piercing through the distant hum of traffic from the main motorway.

"What?" Charles asked, quite taken aback by her laughter.

"Oh nothing, nothing," Elsie replied while trying to catch her breath. Seeing Charles' questioning look she added, "It's just that I expected you might say so and you did."

"I'm a stereotype then?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Not quite but close," Elsie bit her lip trying to stifle her giggles.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Charles asked, laughing softly. Elsie's sense of humour creeping up to him and loosening him up.

"Well… you do seem like the sort of very _English _gentleman who would settle by the fire with a book by Dickens and glass of sherry or port," Elsie said trying her best to keep her laughter at bay, but the hints of suppressed laughter vaguely visible as the picture in her words formed in her mind.

"How amusing," Charles deadpanned and crossed his arms in front of him.

"Well? Am I wrong?" Elsie asked turning towards him, a distinct twinkle in her eye.

Charles tried to maintain an unamused expression but failed. The truth of her assumption actually felt funny now. "Unfortunately you aren't."

Elsie smirked in response, a clearly triumphant look about her face.

"But I don't go for the fire often," Charles added with a lopsided smile. "Sometimes I feel a bit lazy to go all the way."

Elsie smiled at his words and sighed when she remembered his question from earlier. Turning her gaze away from him and back at the road she began, "So… as a brief answer to your question. I was born and raised in a farm in Argyll. I started working early on. I was working full time by the time I was in my early twenties. Didn't get to go to university… though looking back, I would have liked to, I did quite well in school. But it wasn't an option back then."

And as she paused to take a deep breath, he observed how her eyes hinted of regret for lost chances. But it was gone in a moment as she began to speak again. "I started work, my first proper job I suppose, as a maid in one of those big manor houses. When I was in my late twenties, I shifted to London from Scotland to work in a hotel. Changed a couple of jobs and landed on the position of Head of the Housekeeping department there."

"That's impressive," Charles interjected. Somewhere in between the lines of her story, he sensed hardships that she didn't say. But in the corners of her voice, they lurked. Shadows and ghosts. And he felt, there was much more than what she said.

"Quite," Elsie said. "It was there that I picked up details about event planning and I learnt about it on the side. But it was a well-paid job and I wasn't quite in a position to leave it and take the risk of starting something new, so I stayed there for quite a long time. By the end I was quite thorough about the ins and outs of an event planning business. But you can't start something like that fresh in London. One, it's too expensive. Two, there's loads of others who are much more experienced and 'in the game' so to speak. So I shifted to Yorkshire." Elsie turned at him and smiled.

"You've carved quite a path in life, haven't you?" Charles said, clearly impressed and feeling a bit apprehensive about what he's done with his life compared to this strong-willed woman from way up in Scotland.

"You could say that," Elsie blushed and looked down at the pavement and watched their slow and almost idle footsteps. Hers a few inches ahead of his. She wasn't prepared for the tender way he looked at her. This certainly wasn't the reaction she expected from someone who moved in the circles that he did. She had expected him to be rather appalled by her working class roots. He was the manager of one of the grandest houses (better said "castles") in Yorkshire after all. The way he looked at her, the sheer admiration in his eyes stirred up something in her heart that she couldn't exactly lay a finger on. Along with a subtle feeling of trust.

A moment of silence ensued and Charles was the one to break it, "Why Downton though?"

"Pardon?" Elsie asked, startled by his sudden question and sounding as if she was shaken out of a deep thought. Her train of thoughts came to a sudden halt.

"Why Downton?" Charles repeated, looking down at her. He was surprised how suddenly she seemed very distant and quiet, he couldn't help but worry if his questions weren't what she had expected, whether in some way he had upset her.

"Oh," she responded, realisation finally kicking in. "Well I started off in York. Rented a small place and it was all by myself. That didn't work out well. In fact, it's fair to say that it didn't work out at all, I struggled so badly those days. That was where I met Beryl."

"Oh..." Charles was unprepared for the brutal honesty in her words. It certainly wasn't what he expected from her reserved nature. It was true that she was open and cheerful in conversation but he had also sensed how she became guarded and reserved when speaking of her life.

"Yeah…" Elsie trailed off and looked up at the sky and the stars peeping from behind the clouds. She sighed, a feeling of weariness in her bones and a feeling of weight upon her heart. "In fact the day I met her I was at the Bakewell's store in York. She saw me, and being the affectionate but _terribly annoying _red-head that she is…" Elsie paused for a moment as Charles chuckled at her description of Beryl and began again, "…got me talking, we talked for a long time which you might find easy to imagine now that you know her, and asked me out for a cup of tea. I was reluctant but she dragged me along and got me stuffed with sandwiches, bless her kind and _exasperating _soul."

"You two have a peculiar friendship, you know that?" Charles chuckled. "One would even think that you are enemies."

Elsie snorted at his words. "The lines are blurry I can tell you," she said eliciting a loud laugh from him. "No she's actually a really good friend. Only annoys you _half the time_," she deadpanned but then chuckled unable to contain her own laughter. When the laughter had subsided she began again, her voice softer and her eyes fixed on the road that stretched ahead of them, "She helped me set up in Downton. I started very small and it's fair to say she kept me well fed almost always till I had some business coming. Even after that, she didn't relent for some time. The business did well. I got Anna to help me out as my assistant. Moved office space for a bigger place. Got a small staff for the place, a flat for myself and the rest is history." She looked up at him after she had finished, and she was more than surprised by the look of pure admiration on his face.

"What?" she asked, unable to resist.

"I'm just…" Charles took a deep breath, "Wow!"

"The Life of Elsie Hughes, abridged version with author's note," she laughed, a painful note hidden in it. "Sorry to keep it that long."

"No please Elsie! I'm… I'm impressed and surprised is an understatement," Charles exclaimed and Elsie blushed. She quickly looked away.

"Sorry I've not got glamorous roots, like most other event planners," she said, a note of melancholy returning to her voice. A hint of self-deprecation.

"Elsie believe me when I say that I am in wonder and admire your spirit whole heartedly," Charles reasoned and finally Elsie looked at him and smiled. That smile that enchanted Charles in the first place. Only her eyes held a softer shadow in them and her lips did not reach as wide as usual.

"Thanks," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I mean… making a new life for yourself in a new country –"

"Scotland is hardly another country Charles," Elsie shook her head and cut him short.

"But still! The way I see it, it's quite an achievement!"

"I'm sorry I just blabbered on," Elsie apologised, looking away from. Accepting compliments was definitely not one of her traits. If Elsie Hughes was anything, that was private and reserved. She smirked at the darkness. _That, _was only a sliver of the hurricane that Elsie's life was and is. Everything that went on in her life, went on beneath the surface. Outside she was always the stoic and confident Elsie Hughes.

"And what about you Mr Carson?" she asked, shifting her paper bag to the other hand.

Charles observed her movement and offered, "I could carry that for you if you like. It does look quite heavy."

"Oh I can manage Charles," she smiled. "Beryl is not known for packing _small _meals but I can manage, truly." Elsie couldn't deny that she was impressed by his gentlemanly behaviour.

"Elsie I insist!" he persisted, his eyebrows knitted in an insisting expression.

But Elsie was determined to have it her own way too. One thing that Elsie prided about herself was her ability to stay independent. She rarely, almost never relied on anyone. A solitary ship making its way on a stormy sea. "Charles, seriously! I can manage," she said, her voice strong and determined.

"Let me help you, please," Charles insisted.

"Why? Did you take me for some frail, young thing who'd faint at even at the sight of something heavy?" she smirked and playfully raised an eyebrow.

Charles sighed, quite exasperated by her stubbornness yet impressed all the same, and shook his head, "Are you always this stubborn?"

"Mmm, yes. At least, I suppose so, for I've been told that I am, rather often," Elsie replied with her head held high. She couldn't deny that the paper bag was a tad bit heavy but it wasn't a weight that Elsie hadn't or couldn't carry. She's had her fair share of manual labour both as a girl and a woman.

"Long live women's rights and all but it wouldn't kill you if you just handed that bag over to me," Charles said rather sternly this time.

Elsie was surprised by his persistence. It felt nice though, a gentleman offering to carry her bag for her. For a woman who had been independent all her life, she had always thought that she wouldn't fall for such actions and very often, too often in fact, she hadn't cared about such things. But he was clever at pulling at her heartstrings in a way that was entirely novel to her and she gave in but being Elsie Hughes she covered it up with a sharp comment, "Oh alright! If it makes you _that happy _to at the prospect of being a beast of burden."

She handed her bag to him and he accepted, his face erupting into a Cheshire cat grin. Elsie eyed his silly expression and smiled.

"Happy now?" she asked, trying her best to contain her mirth.

"Much!" he replied playfully. "Glad to be of service My Lady." He bowed slightly but graciously in her direction.

"I'm not sure I deserve that," Elsie scoffed, her hands making their way into her pockets.

"I think you do," Charles replied, his voice low serious. Far from the playful tone that Elsie had predicted it might take.

At his words, instinctively her hands came out of her pockets and clasped in front of her. She blushed, turned her head down for a few seconds and blinked rapidly. The corners of her lips twitched upwards as she tried to suppress a wide smile.

But quickly, she regained her usual demeanour and asked, "You avoided my question Mr Carson. What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked quite confused, unable to recall her question.

"What is your story Mr Carson?"

"Oh," he cleared his throat and swallowed. Where can he start? What should he say? What if his past disgusts this lovely woman?

Elsie tilted her head and looked at him with a questioning look. Charles' free hand clenched and unclenched away from her sight.

"Well," he cleared his throat again. "There's not much to say."

"I'm sure that's not true," she said, a lopsided smile on her face.

"I grew up on the estate," he began after a sigh.

"You mean on the Downton estate?" Elsie interrupted him, quite surprised.

"Yes," he answered, eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Go on," she urged.

"So, yes. I grew up on the estate. My father managed the stables. He was Head Groom back then, when Downton had many price winning horses. Ever since I could remember I've helped out at the Abbey. Robert and I were very close growing up. The Dowager Countess, well, she was the Countess then, took a shine to me and helped fund my studies."

"Well, I must say, that puts her in quite a different light," Elsie commented, her expression showing that she was not amused.

"Not fond of her, are you?" Charles inquired, amused by her sudden change of expression.

"Let's say safely that I don't warm to her type," Elsie replied maintaining her firm expression.

Charles chuckled at her word. Normally, he wouldn't have reacted in that manner to anyone uttering a word against Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham. They would certainly have another thing coming. But he had to concede, Elsie looked rather adorable in her unamused look. Her lips pursed, eyebrows in a tight line and warm embers glowing in the depths of her blue eyes, visible even beneath the faint street lights.

Charles kicked a stray stone that had made its way on to the pavement, "Well. She may appear to be rather self-centred and such but deep down she's much different. Compassionate, one would even call her kind but that is in her own way. Not everyone can see it."

"Safe to say the magic spell hasn't worked on me from what I've seen and heard of her," Elsie scoffed but when she met his eyes her mocking smile faded. In his dark eyes were a very serious light. One that seemed to plead her to understand and at the same time assert the fact that he strongly disagreed with her. One that managed to make her feel bad about her words.

"Well, you are free to have your own opinions of course. But I've known her all my life and…" he paused to clear his throat and looked ahead at the road that stretched out in front of them for a moment before continuing. "I've seen who she is beneath. And I'd even go as far as to say I wouldn't be here, where I am now, if wasn't for her."

Elsie remained quiet. She couldn't find any words. The low but clear tone of his voice, its depth, its severity, all spoke of how much they meant to him. There were unspoken words hiding behind the spaces in his sentences. But Elsie herself was no stranger to them. Much of who she was, laid invisible in those minute spaces that ran deep. Unknown to others, untouched by her for so long. And Charles Carson, she assumed, must be no different. But it intrigued her. Oh yes it did, those invisible spaces that would complete who Charles Carson was, they intrigued her. And with that intrigue came a strong desire to uncover those spaces, to learn what they hid. And as much as the alien thought terrified her… to know Charles Carson.

Charles looked at the woman by his side, from the corner of his eye. He was left impatient by the sudden silence that suddenly settled upon them. He wondered what she might be thinking. He was never really good at reading people but her… he wasn't really sure. She was better than mysterious. His mind searched for a word apt to describe her. Mystique. And of course she was delightfully exotic and beautiful as the word.

Elsie was the one of break the silence in an attempt to revive their comfortable atmosphere from before, "You must have been close to Lord Grantham from a long time back."

"Oh yes, I've known Robert since almost forever. And before you ask, yes, we are on first name terms though I wouldn't even dare to go that far with his mother," he chuckled at his own joke and Elsie smiled lightly. "We played together and I saved Robert from many scrapes he got himself into. He went to Eaton. I went to public school in York, Robert's mother helped of course. To get in and occasionally financially as well. I doubt anyone in my family had ever gone anywhere beyond Ripon Grammar."

"It certainly was a different world, wasn't it?" Elsie sighed and crossed her hands in front of her. She could understand it. Her family had been farmers for centuries. Probably since forever. She broke out of it all, from the life of being yet another farmer's wife. The life her mother lived, the life that Elsie swore she'd escape.

"I suppose so… I got a scholarship to attend university, business management was what I studied. Robert went to Cambridge. He studied political science. His mother was quite serious about him being a prominent figure in the House of Lords."

"I wonder how the Dowager took it, now that Lord Grantham is more a business figure than a political figure."

"Not too well, I can tell you. But I suppose she came to terms with it. After all it came with its own set of advantages and she warmed up to them."

"And?"

"And what?" he looked at her, confused.

"And the rest of your story Charles," Elsie rolled her eyes.

"Oh, well, after that the Dowager offered me a position. I accepted, got a bit of training and started work at Downton Abbey and here I am after twenty five or so years," he smiled rather self-consciously. There were many things left unsaid. Many secrets and old wounds he hadn't opened. Wasted years and a lost love. An apologetic, penniless boy returning home to face his father's wrath and his mother's disappointed glare.

Elsie was quick to notice the vaguely melancholic air about his little speech. She could feel the secrets stirring within him, though what, she didn't know and couldn't say. It was fair, she thought. After all she had held tight to her secrets and so why shouldn't he?

"You've come a long way in life too and I think that's brilliant," she said in admiration of his achievements.

"I suppose so… Thank you" he answered but not with any great enthusiasm. The melancholy pouring out of his eyes and his words that made Elsie feel somewhere between sorry and a tenderness for him. But his immediate silence settled thickly around them.

Elsie tugged at the lapels of her coat and pulled it tight around her. She turned her head to look at the familiar streets now entrenched in a dark veil. The silence around them, interrupted occasionally by the dull hum of people getting on with their lives, grew thicker. She didn't want it to, but how to break it she didn't know.

Charles looked up at the sky. From within the darkness, tiny stars smiled at them. Their light not strong enough to shatter the darkness but not weak enough to not make themselves known. He didn't want this silence to settle around them. Most often in life, he would try to wish such things away instead of actively trying and when that doesn't happen he would accept with a heavy heart, consoling himself that it was meant to happen. But not tonight. It was magical, what was around them. It had been a long time, a very long time since he had felt so. And he was not quite ready to let that magic die.

"It's beautiful isn't it," he whispered as best he could, his gaze still fixed upon the stars.

Elsie looked up as well. A wide smile grew upon her lips, "Yes, very."

"I've always loved stars as a boy. When I was young I studied the constellations as best as I could from a book from the library at the Abbey."

"That's nice. I can almost picture it. You, pouring over a big, leather bound book. Though I can't imagine you as a boy," she chuckled mischievously.

"Hey!" he whipped his head down to face and admonished.

"Just kidding," she raised her hands, a very evident glint in her eyes. And when he frowned at her, she added in a softer voice, "No, truly."

He pursed his lips as he studied her face. Eyes that held a silent apology and her bottom lip drawn between her teeth, quite attractively, he thought. His expressions softened and she smiled, a peace offering, relieved that her silent apology was accepted.

"When I was a young girl I used to spin tales about the stars," she said as she looked up to the stars again. "I used to imagine all sorts of silly stories."

"It must have been lovely. Spinning tales sitting by a barn widow as the farm breathed silently around you," he commented as he observed the serene look on her face as she watched the stars. Her smile, serene and relaxed. But it changed at his words. The relaxation gave way to a suppressed, pained look.

"You are quite the poet aren't you?" she joked, in an effort to lift away the feelings mingled with memories that settled upon her.

"One of the dying breed," he answered in a playful tone but he couldn't get his mind off the sudden change in her expression.

She smiled, silently, yet with the melancholic aura still around her as she replied in a soft voice, "It wasn't quite as romantic as that."

For Charles, farm life, despite the fact that he lived in an area surrounded by farms, always meant a free life, the master of one's own destiny. To work as one pleased, hard work of course but satisfying nonetheless, compared to taking orders and living a life as dictated by others. But the eyes of the once farm girl beside him spoke of a vision, a life, much different than the one that had taken root in his imagination.

Elsie understood or at least she thought she did. Charles had lived all his life surrounded by the splendour of the Abbey. A world she hadn't ever known in the faraway Scottish village that only amounted to a tiny dot on the map of the United Kingdom, slightly larger on the one of Scotland. The manor house, she once worked in while in Scotland was devoid of the luxuries and glory she had heard of about Downton Abbey. They were an aristocratic family too but struggling to hold on to a way of life that was slipping through their fingers, their colourful world of wealth and beauty crumbling around them. Elsie had seen them at their worst, on the verge of ruin and ultimate poverty. She wondered if Charles knew the family, the MacClares. The Marquess and Marchioness of Flintshire. They were once the owners of a magnificent castle, their ancestors were the Lairds of Duneagle. But the castle was sold lock, stock and barrel in the late 1920s. And the manor house in the adjoining smaller estate held a few glories of a lost history, when the heads of their families were the Lairds of a sprawling estate and before that, the Chiefs of clan McClare.

She tried to understand. Charles probably never knew of cold air biting through thread bare clothes. Trekking to barns in knee deep snow to work early before school. Days of hunger when bad weather ruined the crops. Whiffs of whiskey on her father's breath and her mother rummaging the kitchen and the larder to fix something for supper while ignoring the liquor fuelled curses coming from the living room. The centuries old farmhouse with the leaking roof and cracked stone walls that let in draughts of cold air. Yes, there was beauty to it, _sometimes_. A much simpler way of life that held its own complexities.

She shook her head slightly, almost unnoticeably. She noticed Charles looking at her cautiously. She took a sharp intake of breath, "But yes. It was simple… in a way."

Everything about her, from the furrowed brow to her lips that were in a thin line, from the icy stare in her eyes that was directed onto an uncertain focus point on the street to the clenched fist by her side (that she presumed that he might not have noticed) signalled to him not to push her, to thread gently, carefully, cautiously. Women were not creatures he understood, but this one… even more so.

"Look," she said softly calling his attention to something that he couldn't recognise.

"What? Where?" he inquired as he frantically looked around them.

"There, in the sky," she unclenched her fist and pointed at the mosaic of stars that stretched far beyond them into the unknown corners of the universe.

He followed her gaze and whispered when realisation dawned upon him, his lips curled up into a smile, "Shooting stars."

"Are you going to make a wish?" she asked, her voice low yet eyes twinkling as she faced him.

"I already did," he smiled at her. A smile of pure joy and contentment, so filled with something that Elsie couldn't place but wished she knew. Something so tender yet intoxicating. Illusive even, she thought as she returned a smile. And in a deep, untouched corner of her heart, she made her own wish.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Thank you so very much for all your lovely reviews throughout this story. They have been a real encouragement for me to continue this story. Apologies for not being able to update sooner, real life took over. Thank you for being patient with me and sticking with this story. I'll try to update the next chapter as soon as possible. I'd be very grateful if you could let me know in the reviews your thoughts about this chapter and this story. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with the next chapter! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter took quite a long time to be published and I think it might be helpful if you could go through the previous chapter before reading this one. Thank you so much for bearing up with me and so sorry for taking more time than usual to publish this update. **

* * *

Chapter 7

* * *

"Here we are," Elsie sighed and smiled weakly as they stood at the beginning of the lane that led to her flat. The straight road was illuminated by a long line of street lamps. The lane was considerably quiet, the night had already settled in upon most houses. Lights shone in windows and occasionally shadows of people upon the curtains.

"This is your lane?" Charles asked, eyeing the dark lane lit by streetlamps and the houses that were lined up along it. Most of the houses at the beginning of the lane were Edwardian Era cottages with few modifications on the outside. Their ivy covered stone walls were hauntingly beautiful as they disappeared at the bend in the lane. Closer to the far end of the bend the silhouettes of a few modern looking flats were visible. Their clean, modern, straight lines a stark contrast to the homely cottages with their age old, imperfect stone lines.

"Yes, this is it. I suppose I must release you now," Elsie looked up at him and smiled, as she wrung her hands. They had walked part of the way in companiable silence and part of the way engaged in amiable chatter. Each as lovely as the other. A feeling Elsie failed to discuss, a nice one nonetheless. It was a novel experience and Elsie found it hard to believe that their little adventure was about to end and strangely… she was beginning to miss him already, even before he's left.

"Which one is your flat?" Charles asked, trying to make a guess, squinting his eyes in the semi darkness.

"Oh you can't see it from here. It's closer to the end of the lane."

"Then come along," Charles gestured towards the lane with his head but when Elsie didn't follow or make any move to, he looked at her rather confused, a questioning look upon his face.

"Charles… I… uh," Elsie stuttered, unable to form a proper sentence to make him understand. Taking a deep breath she began again, "I have imposed on you so much already Charles, and I really don't want to trouble you anymore. You are late enough as it is, " she looked at him beneath her lashes, a pleading look in her eyes and a shy smile on her lips, and Charles' heart melted at how sweet and lovely she looked in that moment. Her bottom lip making its way beneath her teeth out of habit.

"You think I'm going to let you go alone in the dark? At this time of the night? No way!" Charles implored and looked at her deeply, his eyes holding a very serious look about them.

"But Charles—," Elsie's protest was cut short when Charles shook his head in disagreement.

"There is no argument here. I can't very well let you walk alone through that?" he threw his free hand the direction of the lane, his look one of determination.

"You think I'm incapable—" Elsie countered suddenly feeling incredibly annoyed with him.

"I do not doubt your capability—"

"Then what?" Elsie glared at Charles.

"Elsie, I'd like to see you home. Make sure you get home safely," Charles pleaded.

"Honestly Charles, I can go the rest of the way. I've taken this path over hundreds of times in my life," Elsie argued and reached for her paper bag in Charles' hand. He quickly moved it to his other hand and when Elsie reached again, he moved his hands behind his back.

Elsie stood with her hands on her hips, her head tilted to a slight angle, an eyebrow raised at him. He defiantly kept on holding the paper bag out of her reach.

"Charles," she said in a low voice, a warning tone woven into it.

"Elsie please, it isn't right!"

His insistence got on Elsie's nerves and she said much sharply than she had intended to, "What isn't? Charles I'm not some frail, young thing, I told you before. I can look after myself."

She regretted her tone the moment Charles' expression stiffened and he stood with his back and shoulders straight. Elsie glanced away for a moment unable to hold his stern and steely gaze but then turned to look back at him. A feeling of guilt tugged at her heart, she understood she wasn't imposing on him but that he was offering because he was well and truly a gentleman, and that he definitely isn't one of the "following types" – a lunatic, a stalker or a serial killer. Being a good judge of character was a quality and an ability was something Elsie was always proud of herself for. Perhaps he still lived in a world where chivalrous men carried heavy loads and walked women to their doors. Opening doors for women, insisted on walking on the side of the pavement which was exposed to the traffic. All those tiny things slowly disappearing from the world, becoming unnoticeable and insignificant before eventually disappearing altogether.

But that tiny niggling voice at the back of her head, that had dealt with life all by herself for so long was protesting. She was certain he wouldn't make any unwelcome advances, she could clearly see it wasn't 'his style', that wasn't the man that Charles Carson was – but, well, not that advances by him towards her would be all that unwelcome for these past hours had made her rather interested, if not 'very' fond, of him. But it was her habit of not wanting to rely on someone else, not wanting to depend on someone else was what she was most in conflict with in that moment. She had fended for herself for too long that it had become part of her. It was an essential part of who Elsie Hughes was.

Still, she felt she shouldn't bother him after all what she had relied on him for in the past few hours, she felt she couldn't trespass on his generosity for any longer. What if he didn't even like what he was offering but still doing so because he felt it was what a gentleman ought to do, what he as a young man was taught to do? And Elsie herself was most definitely strong enough a woman to brave the world alone, just as she had done for so many years than she cared to remember.

A terribly awkward moment passed between them. Elsie shifting from one foot to another with fidgeting fingers which she controlled by tucking them in her pockets (but still found herself fiddling with the lining of the pockets and playing with the thread that had come loose) and Charles standing tall with his brows knitted and a look of hurt somewhere between the lines of his impassive expression (holding on so tightly to the handle of the paper bag that he was sure his knuckles must be terribly pale).

Elsie realised how her words must have been heard. Combined with her snappish tone, the sharpness they created, she felt, was not what Charles deserved.

"Look, I'm sorry Cha –"

"Elsie it's that I –"

Elsie laughed nervously at how they both spoke out at the same time but his expression was solid and unchanged.

"You go ahead," Charles offered. His expression relaxing very slightly. A shift that Elsie failed to notice as she tried to get a better hold of her thoughts.

She took a deep breath and began, "I'm sorry Charles. I… uh… I didn't intend to sound mean. I just…" She looked up at the sky and grunted in annoyance at how her words failed her. It infuriated how words eluded her when she needed them so desperately, as was in this moment. Charles stood silent and still, giving her the time and space to express herself. "Oh God how am I going to put this right." She looked back at him beneath her lashes, suddenly feeling very small next to his large frame. "I feel like I'm constantly imposing on you. I don't like people to feel that about me—."

"Elsie I offered and you are certainly not impo—."

"Please," Elsie urged him to let her continue. "You see, I've always managed by my own for how long I can't remember – so many years and it just feels… rather odd."

"I could say the same. I mean the managing alone part. But… well," he laughed lightly unsure of how to phrase the next words that he wanted to say and in a feeble attempt to lighten the thick 'atmosphere' around them. "I don't doubt your ability or your independence. Not in slightest. I'd just like to walk you all the way home. Make sure you get there safely."

Elsie bit her lip and eyed his sincere expression and it certainly didn't bear any trace that he would give in, "You are sure I'm not in your way?"

"Absolutely sure," he nodded. He noted how her brow furrowed lightly as she thought and the crinkles it formed at the corners of her eyes, despite the dim light that surrounded them.

She looked up at him and smiled shyly as she felt touched by his noble motive and his kindness, "Alright."

"Good," he smiled back at her, with both a gentleness that shone from deep within his brown eyes and satisfaction that his point was made and that he had got his way. "So shall we?"

"Oh sure," Elsie started walking and he followed by her side, observing the neighbourhood.

And though Charles would never say it out loud, he was glad she allowed him to escort her home. And he tried his best to commit every detail to memory, to bury it in his mind where memories of her would reside.

* * *

"So this is it," she said, turning to face him as she stood at the bottom of the stairs that led up to her flat.

"See? That didn't hurt much did it?" he joked and she laughed heartily.

She regained her breath and thanked him, "Thank you Mr Carson."

"It was my pleasure," he replied bowing a little, earning a giggle from her in return.

"Reminds me of those black and white films from the 1920s," she laughed lightly, her eyes glistening, and he shook his head, clearly amused by her.

"Now that you are home _safely_," he emphasized with a twinkle in his eye, a smirk that he didn't try to hide, which caused Elsie to giggle again. "I suppose it's time for me to head back to the Abbey." He handed her the paper bag that Beryl had packed for her.

She accepted it back with a smile that faded when his fingertips brushed against hers. A sudden of sense of nostalgia for the moments they had shared together washed over her when realisation struck that this really was good bye. She was missing him even before he was really gone. A feeling that she was not very familiar with. She shook herself out of her thoughts and spoke, "I can try to find you a cab. At least I hope very much that I would be able to."

"At this time of the night," he scoffed good-naturedly. "I highly doubt it but thank you. I don't mind walking to the Abbey. It's not _that _far."

"No please let me check, it wouldn't hurt," she placed the bag on the floor and rummaged in her coat pocket for her phone. "I'd be glad to make sure _you_ got home _safely_ too," she smirked and he shook his head at the mischievously determined note in her voice, with a smile on his lips.

"Oh here it's working _now_," she hissed and scowled at her smartphone, and proceeded to tap on it, her fingers moving over the screen so swiftly. Her bottom lip tucked beneath her teeth. Her look of utter concentration, he found to be amusing.

"Oh thank goodness it's working. I booked an Uber for you. It's supposed to be here soon," she looked at him triumphantly, her eyes glowing.

"A what?" he exclaimed without thinking.

"You do realise this is the 21st century, don't you?" Elsie raised an eyebrow at him, smirking mischievously. She was highly amused by how many things technological baffled him. In the short space of time which she got to know her, it was one of first and astonishing facts she had got to know him.

He gave her mock stern glare, "I get about Miss Hughes. I get about."

"Baffling," she replied nonchalantly.

"Oh really?" he asked sarcastically.

"Absolutely. And intriguing," she laughed.

"Why don't I find that reassuring?" he laughed and she joined in.

When the laughter subsided, the awkward silence began to creep in slowly forming a separating veil. Elsie played with her fingers and Charles stared at his feet with his hands in his pockets.

He cleared his throat and her eyes shot up to meet his. "I wondered… um," he paused looking into her eyes deeply. He was nervous, yes, nervous of the question he about to ask, nervous of what her answer would be and nervous of the consequences. A thousand thoughts were racing through his mind, faster than he could hold on to them to process them rationally.

"Yes?" she urged sensing his hesitation to bring his thoughts into words.

"I wondered if you'd be free tomorrow. Evening perhaps?" he asked letting go of his breath along with his words. His pulse racing as anticipation for her answer ran through his veins like lightening but he felt an odd sense of relief that he somehow managed to say what he wanted to. That was quite uncharacteristic for Charles, for it was normal for him to incessantly weigh the pros and cons in mind, debate the possibilities and come to a very rational decision. Charles Carson was never known to do something impulsively, at least not nowadays, not for a very long time. No, everything that he did was well planned ahead of time and executed with the utmost precision.

But something about Elsie Hughes, something about this beautiful, enigmatic woman who stood in front of him, something about what she made him feel, what her lilting voice paired with her deep blue eyes and entrancing smile, what her mere presence did to him was something he was not in the least prepared for. Something he most certainly had not planned.

"Oh," she exclaimed suddenly as his question hit her with an unexpected force. That was not something she had expected to come out of him. This man before her, so calm and collected, so proper and traditional, this certainly was not something she had not expected from him. But it thrilled her nonetheless for with every word of his, woven into eloquent sentences and spoken with his enchanting baritone timbre drew her to him. His gentle and caring personality despite his intimidating physique was intriguing, she would even dare to say quite "endearing."

"Well?" he inquired, suddenly feeling anxious over her surprise at his offer. He was growing impatient with every second, with every passing heartbeat.

Elsie's eyes drifted away from his, still wide with surprise. Slowly, very slowly, clarity returned to her mind. She had indeed enjoyed the time she had spent with Charles so far. And she couldn't deny, he was unlike most men she had met before and she certainly felt drawn to him, more so as the night grew old around them. Of course she would like to spend more time with him. She would be lying to herself if she pretended that she was not curious about Charles Carson and that she didn't feel any attraction towards this tall, broad shouldered, deep voiced man who was every bit a gentleman, at times even painfully so. She would gladly accept his offer.

But then… there was Joe. Joe Burns. And his letter followed by the clumsily typed email requesting to see her. And the rather reluctant reply she wrote back agreeing to see him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow… of all days, the very same day that Charles had asked her if she was free.

She couldn't compare Charles to Joe. Never. They were men of different worlds. But when Elsie typed that reply one afternoon, a week and a half before (after several days of thinking and a wine glass and a half later to give her courage to not back away and shut her computer and forget that she ever got that email from a man she once turned down) she didn't know of Charles' existence. She could never had guessed that her life would take such an interesting turn just over one week later. At that time, when Elsie sat at her kitchen table with piles of documents and files from work surrounding her, half a dozen text messages from Anna's work mobile unread on her phone, the clock in her living room echoing as it ticked, Elsie felt an overwhelming emptiness in her life that prompted her to agree to meet Joe. A man from a life she left behind. An urge to perhaps fill her life with _something_.

But then Charles almost collided with her tray of drinks… and fell into her life. And with him came a flicker of something beyond Joe, perhaps beyond even everything that she left behind among the mountains and vast fields of Scotland including Joe Burns, the shadows of which Joe seemed to represent.

"Elsie?" Charles inquired gently as he watched thoughts fly past across her face. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, behind her eyes. The thoughtful look in her eyes made him dread her answer.

She came back to Earth with a start and cleared her throat, quite embarrassed of how she got lost in her own thoughts. "I'm afraid I'm busy tomorrow…" she began in a soft voice but trailed off when she saw him physically deflate and his face fall as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

She continued with mischievous glint in her eyes, "But would it be terribly forward of me to give you my number. Then we can see how it goes." Her expression softened a bit as the light and colour returned to his face and he tried to suppress a wide grin. His eyes that suddenly went dull, now returning back with a gleaming light.

"It is terribly forward Miss Hughes," he mirrored her expression. "But not that I mind." He couldn't believe his own words the moment they had left his lips and became instantly worried whether his words might have put her off. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed her expression was still cheerful, flirtatious even. Maybe just as she had said earlier that night, he could afford to live a little.

He retrieved his humble mobile phone from his coat pocket and handed it to Elsie, "You do know how to work one of those, don't you? Not too old fashioned?"

She scowled playfully at him and proceeded to type the numbers in. Elsie pressed the dial button and her own mobile rang. She ended the call and handed the mobile phone back to Charles, "There you go."

"Thank you for…" he couldn't finish the sentence for a cab pulled up outside and honked too loudly. Its blazing headlights lit, gliding past them as it came to a halt. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder back at the street and at the gleaming monster of a cab that had shattered his precious moment.

"That's for you I guess," Elsie smiled.

"Yes," he smiled back, desperately wracking his brains on what to say.

"Good night Charles and thank you," she said and her smile melted into a much more gentle one at the knowledge that this little adventure was finally drawing to an end.

"Good night to you too Elsie," he nodded with a smile, his heart skipping a beat at how her smile changed and how incredibly beautiful she looked as the light framed her face. A few wild strands of hair, adrift in the air. His unspoken words hanging in his mind and in the air between them.

He turned around to leave and willed himself not to look back as he descended the steps that led to the street. As he opened the door of the car, he looked back up at Elsie, standing in the dim light of the hall way. He smiled at her even though he wasn't sure if she could see him clearly. He got in and closed the door.

"To the Abbey sir?" the driver asked as Charles closed his door.

"Yes," he replied without thinking and he continued to look at her through the glass.

The car pulled away and sped up, the neighbourhood passing by quickly. Too quickly. Charles settled down in seat. Pulling out his phone from his coat pocket, he went through his list of contacts till he reached the latest one. He couldn't help but smile widely at her name on his screen.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews on the previous and chapter and a very, very big thank you to all of you for being patient with me. I will do my best to update the next chapter as soon as I am able to and I would be very grateful if you could let me know in the reviews your thoughts about this chapter and this story. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with the next chapter! **


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

Elsie's mobile phone rang incessantly on her bedside table. She turned in bed, facing away from it and covered her head with a spare pillow to cut off the noise. She tightened the hold on the pillow over her head as the ringing suddenly seemed louder once she was completely awakened by it. For a second she wondered if it was Anna to inform her of some catastrophe at work or another but she banished the thought quickly out of her head. She was drained and utterly exhausted and anyone, whoever it was, would have to wait. She smiled into her pillow when the ringing stopped and wriggled around to get comfortable to fall back into sleep.

But her brief moment of peace was interrupted when the phone began ringing again. She groaned loudly and blindly reached for the phone, knocking her diary off the bed side table. The pillow still covering half of her face, she mumbled a grumpy "Hello" only to be greeted by Beryl, who Elsie thought, sounded excessively cheerful. Too cheerful for that early in the morning.

"_Oh Good Morning sleepy head_," Beryl chuckled mischievously at the other end and Elsie sighed knowing that Beryl was in the mood for teasing. "_Hope I wasn't_ _interrupting anything important_."

"Oh bugger off," Elsie mumbled and pushed the pillow completely off her face.

"_Someone is in high spirits early morning_."

"Beryl!" Elsie warned. She really wasn't in the mood for Beryl's teasing.

"_I just wondered how you were. You didn't even drop me a text to say you got back safely. I just presumed that you might have been rather preoccupied."_

"I ached all over and fell right into bed," Elsie replied trying to balance her phone against her ear, feeling too lazy to even hold it against her ear.

_"With?"_ she heard Beryl chuckle uncontrollably at the other end.

"Wha'? Elsie asked, her voice heavy with sleep and unable to process Beryl's insinuations.

_"I asked whom did you fall into bed with? You are barely functioning this morning young lady."_

"Ha bloody ha. God, you are insufferable this morning!" Elsie replied, annoyedly rubbing the back of her hand against her eye. The sheets rustled as she got up and leaned against the head board. She put her phone on speaker and reached for the glass of water with the slice of lemon that she placed on her bedside table the night before.

_"Hey what are you doing?"_ Beryl enquired from the other end, as she listened to the low rustling sounds of sheets and Elsie's silence. _"I assume you aren't..."_

"Don't you say another word Beryl Mason," Elsie interrupted and having gulped down the water quickly she added, "Just had glass of water with a slice of lemon."

_"What the hell is that for?" _Beryl's voice betrayed her possible disgust and Elsie imagined how her face must be screwed up in the way that Beryl does.

"Detoxing or something like that. Daisy was the one who told me to try it."

_"That girl spends far too much time reading stupid blogs on the internet. Never had you down as someone taking her advice or following_ _those hacks… or whatever they call it."_

"I think I mentioned the word 'try.' Besides, I am much more open-minded than you are!"

_"Open-minded my… anyway. I am sorry I dragged you into that yesterday I hope you are well recovered now after your… detoxing what-not… for you know…_" Elsie heard Beryl chuckle.

"No, as a matter of fact I don't know. Care to enlighten me?" Elsie asked, a sarcastic tone lacing her voice, knowing exactly what Beryl was getting at.

_"Old Lover Boy,"_ Beryl laughed and Elsie rolled her eyes.

"Ugh… He has got a name, which I might remind you that you already know."

_"Yeah Joe Burns. I know. But I prefer to use Old Lover Boy."_

"Why?" Elsie crumpled her face. Joe was nowhere close to being such a name. And his and Elsie's past was not at all like that. "It's just…. I don't know… mildly disgusting."

_"Well, you were engaged to him once, weren't you?_"

"Well yes but—."

_"Then Lover Boy it is!"_ Beryl exclaimed triumphantly.

"Will you cut that Lover Boy crap for God's sake?" Elsie shouted at the phone. A few seconds passed, silence on both sides. Elsie took a deep breath. Her mind awash with guilt at the tone she took on Beryl. "Look. I… um… I'm sorry Beryl… I shouldn't have—."

_"No. No. Clearly you don't—,"_ Beryl sounded hurt and Elsie cut her short. After all it wasn't Beryl it was all her. All Elsie. Doubts. Insecurities.

"I am sorry Beryl. You didn't deserve that and I didn't mean to lash out like that," Elsie sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did it all have to be so complicated? Why was she overreacting like this? She never overreacts. Well… not always.

_"Elsie, love"_ Beryl began, her voice much softer. In the distance someone humming, Daisy by the sound of it. _"I took a step too far, I know."_

Elsie leaned heavily against the head board and closed her eyes in an attempt to compose her thoughts, "It's not you Beryl. Honestly. I'm nervous I suppose."

_"Nervous? Elsie Hughes nervous? The world really is coming to an end!"_

"Well, not exactly nervous. I don't know what it is. I'm just so very confused by all this."

_"You know you can tell me anything my dear."_

"I don't know. Just forget it."

_"Might do you some good to get it out of your system,"_ Elsie heard Beryl smile. _"What the hell is happening over there? Daisy! What on earth is that smoke? Are you trying to burn the house down, you daft aperth?"_ suddenlyBeryl shouted out placing the receiver heavily down on a hard surface, perhaps a table, Elsie guessed.

"You certainly got that out of your system," Elsie remarked, chuckling as Beryl picked up the phone again.

_"Don't you start too madam!" _Beryl breathed deeply, as the rage cooled down_. "That girl would be the death of me, I'm sure!"_

"You are too hard on her sometimes."

_"Hard on her? She forgot the bloody eggs on the stove when she was tapping away at that dreadful contraption with her bloody air pods on her damn ears! It'll be a matter of time, mark my words, before she burns the damn house down!"_ Beryl calmed down as her breath evened. _"So where was I? Oh yes! Old Lover Boy!"_

"Beryl!" Elsie warned. "I thought you'd forgotten about it what with your little outburst."

_"Forgotten? Oh never my friend, never!" _Beryl chuckled. _"I intend to make the most of this opportunity."_

"I'm sure you will," Elsie muttered beneath her breath.

_"I heard that!"_

"Yes, I am quite aware of it."

_"You were saying that you were confused," _Beryl prompted.

Elsie sighed. It was enough of a mess in her head, all those tangled emotions and doubts and she didn't really feel like making the effort to explain to someone something that she herself barely understood.

_"Elsie?" _Beryl called out when Elsie went silent at the other end. _"Are you still there love?"_

"Yes," Elsie answered wearily.

_"Well?"_

"Well… I'm not sure why I agreed to even meet him. I mean I turned him down so long ago. I was absolutely sure of my decision back then, still am. And why did he turn up out of the blue wanting to get in touch back again?"

_"You mentioned that his wife died three years ago…"_

"Yes… Ivy."

_"I guess it's something to do with that."_

"You mean that he intends to propose to me again?" Elsie asked nonchalantly. She had already figured that much out, she merely wanted Beryl view to confirm her suspicions in that regard. It was the rest of it that confused her.

_"Well yes. And you don't sound surprised about it, so I'm assuming you that you think so too…"_

"Yes, I suppose."

_"And?"_

"And I don't know, Beryl. I just don't know. I don't know what I am supposed to do, or what I should do. I'm so confused by all of it. I thought I left that life behind when I turned Joe down and left Scotland. But his return, it feels as if… as if that life has come back to haunt me and…" Elsie took a deep breath to calm herself. "I don't know if I should accept him if he proposes and… and whether I even want that life at all."

_"You mean being a farmer's wife?"_

"Yes, that."

_"So do you? I mean, you surely know what it is like. You grew up in the midst of it all."_

"Yes I do. Of course I do. And back then I didn't want it. Not in the least. That was why I was so sure about moving away. But for some time now…"

_"You've felt rather lonely. Felt that you could do with the presence of a man in your life and now old Lover Boy is coming down from the hills and you're confused whether the life of a farmer's wife is the price you are willing to pay for companionship."_

"You sure don't beat about the bush."

_"I'll take that as a compliment,"_ Beryl paused. _"Care to confirm if I'm right?"_

"You are," Elsie mumbled in response, fiddling with the thread that had come loose from the white, linen sheet and absentmindedly nibbled on her bottom lip.

She conveniently left Charles out of the picture. She was attracted to him, there was no doubt about that, and he seemed so too. At least it seemed like that from what she could read. But she had already figured out that Charles was someone who kept to himself. It was hard reading him and Elsie was too careful about wading into unknown waters. There certainly was a distinctive spark between them. It was hard for Elsie to define but they certainly "clicked." She had dated on and off (some of them situations that Beryl had dragged her into) but she didn't feel that spark, that undefinable feeling that she felt last night, just spending time with him, walking, talking and even in the silence. She sensed that he might have been hurt before and he was afraid of getting hurt again, the sudden closeness quickly followed by the cold distancing told her that much. She wondered if he would ever let her in, lower his walls for her, let his guard down and be just… just himself. She was willing to wait. But for how long? And would her waiting come to nothing at the end and leave her with that bitter, cold feeling that she so feared and despised?

Rushing to tell Beryl about it would be of no good. Beryl could spin a myriad scenarios in a spilt second and read more into it than what it actually was. Elsie felt the need to keep it to herself, especially since she herself wasn't so sure what it was between Charles and her and what would come of it.

"You there, love?" Beryl asked when Elsie's mumbled response melted away and silence ensued.

Elsie broke off her train of thoughts with a start, "Yes."

"_Well my dear, all I can say is, it's you who's got to decide. It's your decision_," Beryl pause and continued in a low voice emphasising her words. _"But remember I'm always there for you, be it a shoulder to cry on, arriving with a basket of tacos and a few bottles of wine to drown your sorrows together till neither of us can stand remotely straight or bashing the fella's head in with a good, hard saucepan. On second thought, the cast iron skillet I inherited from my mother-in-law would be much better. Effective, I mean"_

Elsie smiled. Beryl's rather crude sense of humour was always a tonic, "Yes, I know. And thank you for that."

"Anytime, love. Anytime."

"Maybe we should do away with the head bashing bit. I don't fancy a sleepover at the police station," Elsie countered and the two broke off into a fit of giggles.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Thank you so very much for all your lovely reviews throughout this story. They have been a real encouragement for me to continue this story. Apologies for not being able to update sooner, real life got somewhat in the way. Thank you for being patient with me and sticking with this story. I'll try to update the next chapter as soon as possible. I'd be very grateful if you could let me know in the reviews your thoughts about this chapter and this story. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with the next chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

"Good morning old friend," Robert greeted as he entered Charles' office. He stood in front of Charles' desk, where Charles, himself standing too, was sorting out letters.

"Oh good morning Robert," Charles replied looking up from his work.

"You look awfully jolly this morning," Robert remarked noting Charles' cheerful countenance which was highly unusual this early in the morning.

"And you look awfully sorry," Charles remarked in return noticing Robert's red rimmed eyes and the way he kept on rubbing his forehead.

"Well, I did put away more than a fair share of alcohol and I'm paying the price now," Robert smiled sheepishly.

Charles looked back down at his work. Robert eyed his friend suspiciously. He had known Charles since forever. It was indeed rather unusual to see him this cheerful. There was a time when he was somewhat cheerful, much more cheerful than in the recent past. But that was a very long time ago when they were merely boys. And he came back from London a changed man. Anyone else might perhaps have let the feeling go but Robert had known Charles for long enough to know that something has shifted, and a significant shift at that too.

He casually leafed through some of the open envelopes which were on a side of Charles' desk and cleared his throat in preparation for some subtle fishing for gossip, a skill of his mother's that he had never successfully mastered. His mother on the other hand was an artist in the field. If Leonardo Da Vinci is considered master in art, everyone, perhaps except Isobel, would agree that Violet Crawley, was a master at finding information otherwise hidden to the world, scandalous gossip and secrets being the chosen area.

"Are you avoiding my question then?" Robert qestioned and pulled out the chair next to him. Sitting down, he observed Charles who tried his best to maintain his composure.

"Well, I wasn't aware you asked one," Charles smirked victoriously at Robert. He mentally berated himself for not being able to control that stupid grin on his face that kept on bursting upon his lips at the most inopportune moments. But he had woken up to remember last night's wonderful adventure and the enchanting woman who was part of it and he couldn't help himself. He went through the contact list on his mobile phone again to make sure that Elsie Hughes was real and not fashioned in his imagination. The letters that made up her name written deeply in black against the shining neon blue screen confirmed that Elsie Hughes was very real.

From that moment on his mind was rather preoccupied at remembering the way her smile reached her blue eyes, the way she looked ever so smart in that sharp, white shirt, the way the streetlights danced upon her like in a dramatic, slow motion sequence in a film. And her clever use of words, her vibrant personality, all of which drew him into a trance woven all about her, all around her.

It took several attempts for Thomas to wake him from his reverie to let him know that the post had arrived. The young man had looked at his superior extremely suspiciously, his grey eyes scanning Charles for a clue. Cora too had given him funny looks that morning, perhaps his internal joyfulness was too overtly visible on the outside. What surprised him most was the meek and quiet Miss Baxter, Cora's PA, asking him if everything was alright. While Miss Baxter was quite a caring soul, she wasn't so quick to inquire after his wellbeing, mostly because his personality and position intimidated her. But today she had looked at him with a concerned look about her eyes, her lips pursed looking very serious. If Phyllis Baxter felt that she needed to be concerned, now _that_ was a bright red flag and Charles realised he had to get a hold of himself. Which was what he was so desperately trying to do in the very moment.

"Oh come on now," Robert rolled his eyes. "It was as good as a question."

"You will find that several linguists would disagree with you," Charles smiled, pleased with himself for outwitting Robert (which wasn't all that hard actually), and proceeded to open a letter with a swift motion of the paper knife.

"Slowly," Robert screeched clutching his head in his hand, "Do keep in mind please that I'm still recovering from a hangover."

"Oh I'm so sorry," Charles replied sounding a bit sarcastic. "Only the new wine order was supposed to get here today."

"You're only saying that to tease me," Robert scowled, still clutching his head.

"In fact I'm not. It is supposed to get here today. The supplier called me yesterday."

"Oh well… A few more glasses of wine wouldn't hurt."

"Wouldn't help your hangover though. Best leave it for another day. The quality of such wine demands a good…"

"Alright old chap. Alright. I know it. Tomorrow then," Robert grinned childishly and Charles shook his head. "Such a shame though. You could've told me it's arriving today. I could have gone a little easy last night then."

"An aspirin perhaps?" Charles suggested now feeling concerned about Robert. Robert's alcohol intake has recently begun to make Cora very anxious and his adoration of fine wines and rich food hasn't been very helpful either.

"Hmm I took two first thing in the morning. G & Ts do bring out the worst in me," Robert sighed.

"Or to phrase it more correctly they make you feel worse than anything else?"

"Eh, hold your horses man. You're implying I can't hold my drink? I'll have you know -"

"That is not what I meant," Charles looked at Robert pointedly.

Robert sighed and leant back in the chair, "Yes, I know. Cora is always bothering me about all that, you don't have to start as well. You know how well you and I appreciate a good glass of wine."

"I do. Of course I do. It's only that I'm worried you appreciate them too well," Charles looked up at Robert just in time to notice the rather childish glare decorating Robert's face. "Look, Cora explained to me her worries about health and that left me quite worried too."

"Did it come in your job description? I didn't see it in the contract and Murray certainly never mentioned it."

"You and I both know I'm speaking as your friend and not in my official capacity as your employee."

"Cora is just overreacting. You know how women can get so overwrought about things."

"But she –,"

"I'm perfectly fine as you can see!"

Charles raised an eyebrow at that and Robert shook his head, "Alright not exactly perfect, it's just a very small hangover. It'll pass. It's not like I'm going to suddenly drop dead with a heart attack."

"But it wouldn't hurt to take things a little bit easy," Charles insisted.

"Fine. Fine. I'll slow down. Christ! Give me a break." Robert rolled his eyes. "And don't think I didn't notice how you side stepped my question. Oh and before you start again, my remark, not question."

"Well…" Charles paused and open his drawer, shuffled its contents and pretended to look for something in order to stall for time as he tried to find a reply that didn't give away anything much.

Robert turned slightly in his chair and placed his hand against his forehead to shield his eyes from the bright, morning sunlight that filtered through the wide window and used his position to observe Charles. Charles' attempt at stalling for time didn't fool him. Something was certainly amiss, or at least it seemed so. It has been a very long time since he'd last since seen Charles with this peculiar mix of emotions; cheerfulness and nervousness. It didn't end well last time and Charles retreated to a shell from which he never emerged. Robert has known Charles all his life and well enough to notice that there has been a clear shifting of sands. What he found to be more surprising was that this change had happened overnight.

"Well…" he prompted and Charles looked back at him with wide eyes, having finally retrieved a fountain pen from the drawer, and shrugged.

"Well… last night turned out to be better than I expected," Charles replied vaguely, hoping his answer would be sufficient to put Robert off the subject.

"Now that was unexpected!" Robert laughed. "Why was it?"

"Nothing!" Charles shot back quickly, but realising that it came out to sharply and not as subtly as he had intended it to, added swiftly, "nothing very special. Just the environment felt better."

"The environment!" Robert smirked. "Good Lord Charles! You and I both know, that is not exactly what either of us would call your natural habitat! There must have been something special to leave you this cheerful. More so because you always insist that there is something so foreign about high spirits at breakfast. It's not long after breakfast and yet here I find you contradicting yourself."

"Or was it _someone_, rather than _something_?" Robert added on second thought.

"No," Charles replied, frowning at Robert and hoping fervently that his reaction looked convincing enough, his heart beating rapidly knowing fully well that that was the exact reason. A certain someone with dark hair, blue eyes, a delightful smile and a lovely Scottish accent lacing her words.

"Hmm," Robert hummed in response, knowing well that pushing Charles any further wouldn't make him reveal anything or do any good. Charles would only build his walls higher and retreat. But Charles' denial wasn't all that convincing either.

"And that matter about the roof…" Charles began hoping to divert Robert's attention away from the topic at hand (and also because the matter needed an urgent solution – an urgency that Robert didn't seem to grasp) but Robert held up his hand to stop him.

"I _really_ am not in the mood," he said, his face screwed up.

"Very well," Charles raised an eyebrow and replied in a low voice. Charles despite his admiration of Robert and his family was also concerned in his friend's marked irresponsibility in matters regarding the management of the house and the estate. But he felt it wasn't his place to directly interfere.

"What? I've a dreadful headache," Robert shrugged, making his excuse.

"Sure."

"And _don't _go behind my back and discuss it with Mama!"

"I won't," Charles sighed. He didn't fancy a discussion of that magnitude with the Dowager Countess either. As much as he respected and admired her, and even enjoyed watching her sharp retorts being directed at others, there's only so much of Violet Crawley's sarcasm that a single individual could brave.

"Best leave it for _after _the wine though," Robert added rising from his seat. His eyes squinted and his hand still firmly clutching his forehead.

Charles exhaled slowly in relief when Robert left his office. He hated it when others tried to pry on his emotions. Being vulnerable didn't come naturally to Charles and others seeing him as such often made him feel like it was a weakness on his part. He wasn't always like that. But this was the man he grew up to be.

He walked towards the window and stared out of it. A golden hue of sunlight had settled like a translucent silk sheet over the rolling fields and hedges that stretched far and wide. The wind was gentle, tip toeing through the grass and leaves. Young John Pegg, Mr Brock's new apprentice, was cropping a bush that had grown out of hand. In the distance Edith was walking aimlessly, stopping when something caught her attention and continuing without any specific sense direction or destination in mind. A few minutes later she stood still, staring into the distance with her back to Charles' window. It must hard for her, he thought as he watched her turn back towards the house with her head bowed and her hands in her pockets, constantly living beneath Mary's shadow.

He pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contact list, every little beep bringing him closer to the name that had become so endearing to him in less than a day. And when he reached his goal, the name on his phone made him smile. Even brighter than the one from earlier that morning, as bright as the sheen that spread over the landscape outside his window. He opened the messaging option purely on sudden impulse. The morning bursting with so much life gave him a sudden sense of boldness and energy.

Charles cleared his throat and flexed the fingers of his free hand. He proceeded to type, frowning when he made constant mistakes. He wasn't a man prone to texting. He was a more of a telephone call type of a man. To him they were much more straightforward and simple than a text message that took ages for him to complete. But this, "her" to be more precise, undeniably made him nervous. Much like when he was sixteen and smitten with the village school teacher's daughter. A blonde haired girl with green eyes and a timid smile who went on to become a school teacher herself and later married a doctor. They had three kids when he last heard of her.

He held his breath for a couple of seconds to steady himself and felt and as if his heart was pounding out of his chest.

_ Elsie, _

_I hhope you ar,e doing verzy well. and i just wondered _

For a few seconds he stared down at his horrible typing with its glaring typing mistakes (which he knew was terrible and bordered unreadable). He looked out from the window. The brilliant light had dulled somewhat and the fields that appeared a shade of lemon green was now a darker, much unexceptional green. The exhilaration that the golden veil had brought with it had somehow vanished when it all returned to being so mundane and commonplace.

Sighing he returned to his text message. The idea of continuing made him feel very tense. He wasn't a man of words. Of course he was a well read one, fluent and appreciative of fine literature, but words and speaking them out loud never came easy to him. More so when he badly wanted to bring to words this feeling that filled his heart to its brim and made him giddy with an emotion that he could find no word for. The more he wanted to make something sound so perfect, convey what he really felt, the more he found himself at a loss for words.

And he did want this to sound perfect. So badly, with every beat of his heart, with every breath he took. But it was made harder by the fact that he couldn't really pinpoint the feelings that Elsie brought to life inside him.

Sighing, he deleted the message he was typing. Now was not the exact moment. He needed a bit more confidence. And probably a bit more clarity too. Perhaps a lot more confidence, he thought. Or was he just afraid of facing his own feelings and what they would entail?

Outside, the sun smiled shyly behind a cloud.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews on the previous and chapter and a very, very big thank you to all of you for being patient with me. I will do my best to update the next chapter as soon as I am able to and I would be very grateful if you could let me know your thoughts about this chapter and this story. Hope you enjoyed! See you soon with the next chapter! Stay safe everyone!**


End file.
